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IVYWALL 



BY 



t: seaton donoho, 



Author or "Moena," Ac. 



■ M » ■ 






*>' Of WasrAt^^ ■' 



WASHINGTON, D. C. : 
THOMAS McGILL, PUBLISHER. 

1860. 

/ 



.s^"^ 

w^^ 



Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1860, by 

THOMAS McGILL, 

in the Clerk's office of the District Court of the United States for the District of 

Columbia. 



"And this our life, exempt from public haunt, 

Finds tongues in trees, books in the running broob, 

Sermons in stones-, and good in everything." 

Shakspeare. 



I V Y W A L L. 



TO MY FRIENP, 



JOHN SAVAGE, 

HISTORIAN, DRAMATIST, AND POET, 



"WHOSE HEAET AND BRAIN WITH LOVE AND GENIUS GLOW," 



"IVYWALL" 



IVYWALL. 



-*•*- 



The hours at Ivywall pass pleasantly, 
Beneatli the maple and the willow shade, 
Or in the latticed bower of morning-glories, 
Whose purple beakers catch the dew all night, 
Till Dawn, intruding on the revelry. 
Drinks in hot haste the few remaining drops. 

Pleasantly pass the hours at Ivywall, 
On the far-seeing belvedere : the city 
Pictured below me, and the waving plains. 
And the blue circle of the white-sailed river. 
That, hearing ocean's call, from hill to hill 
Runs eagerly, to find a portal there. 
Seeming, at last, to vanish in the sky. 
And so to seek its love : even as the soul. 
That grows impatient of the bonds of earth. 
And leaves the long-accustomed track of time. 
Obedient to the voice. Eternity ! 

Pleasantly pass the hours at Ivywall, 

On the grape-clambered balcony, where reach 

The maple boughs, that rock the nested birds, 



10 ' IVYWALL. 

And all the little leaves clap hands together, 
Applauding, while the parent of the brood 
Sits by her young, and sings so tenderly ! 

The hours at Ivywall pass pleasantly, 

Reclining on the checkered grass, beside 

The circle, rainbow-like, of many flowers, 

Whose centre is an everblooming rose. 

And even as this many-colored round, 

So is my life at Ivywall : replete 

With beauty and enjoyment. And the rose, 

That is its central ornament and pride — 

Thou art the Rose, dear Maye, my Sweetheart- Wife I 

Pleasantly pass the hours at Ivywall, 
With friends, who have not studied books alone, 
Though much of those, but varied nature, too. 
And all the harmonies. And still the chief. 
By birthright and the claim of sympathy. 
My Brother, whom in early years I taught 
My own small knowledge of attuned words. 
By him so soon acquired, so fast improved. 
So wedded to the music of his soul. 
And with such melody of voice expressed. 
That he has paid me back a thousand fold. 
And oft at sunset, oft beneath the moon. 
His song hath linked all hearts in happiness ; 
And dearer for his sake is Ivywall ! 

In spring, while watching bud by bud unfold; 
In summer, resting in the breezy shade; 
In autumn, when the red and yellow leaves 



IVYWALL. 11 

Come fluttering down to strew my winding walks j 
In winter, when the dial, capped with snow, 
No longer tells of time's mysterious flight — 
Pleasantly pass the hours at I^^wall ! 

Then in my little book-room glows the grate; 
Then is my Love more fondly by my side, 
For all the bitter winds that moan without; 
Then is my Brother's song more musical, ' 
That every icy tree is voiceless ; 
Then is my Friend, my next-to-brother, welcome ;* 
And changeful converse then, and chosen books, 
Make bright the darkest day ; and day to night 
Steals silently, unnoticed, and again 
Almost the night to morning. 

Or, alone, 
The nature-tracing pencil gives me scenes 
That glow with summer grandeur ; or the pen 
Paints from the heart a gallery for hearts, 
Wherein no picture may be excellent. 
Yet each, I fondly fancy, hath a touch 
Of heart-glow that may make it dear to some — 
Recalling memory in her fairest looks, 
Griving new sunshine to the present day. 
And confidence to meet the veiled future. 

Thus, beauty blooming round me, hope alluring; 
Thus, blessed with peace and love, and friends and 

books, 
And such afi"ection for the good and grand, 

* John Savage. 



12 IVYWALL. 

Their inspiration from my soul is cast — 
All, that it must be faintly ! — on the page, 
And many-tinted canvas; thus, possessed — 
And this my bolder claim ! — of deep desire 
That of my life's enjoyments I may form 
Enjoyment, as a crown, for other lives — 
Pleasantly pass the hours at Ivywall ! 



®l]e §irlj 0f % fHm^, 



In a morning walk through the Capitol Garden, I observed a bird in one of 
the gas-lamps — strange prison-place ! — where it was fluttering against the glass, 
striving to escape. 

Poor little Captive ! thou whose joy till now 

Was change, and sweeter change, from tree to tree, 

Or, falling like a blossom from the bough, 
To dart among the vines where sips the bee, 
Or trip along the grass, or warble free 

Thy love-song from some high and swaying limb, 

Or pour .the notes of morn or even hymn : 

Poor little Captive ! weary, broken-hearted. 
Lone in thy crystal prison-house, to look 

Forth on the May-Day world, from which thou 'rt parted 
Even as with iron bars ! And lo ! the brook 
Leaping before thee, through the dear green nook 

Of happy summers, where — O cruel fate ! 

Perchance thou hearest now thy calling mate ! 



IVYWALL. 13 

Calling and calling, evermore in vain, 

Despairing in tlie bowers where once was peace, 

While all her sisters, hearing her complain, 

Throng round her desolate home, and still increase 
The mournful melody which may not cease ! 

Poor bird, thy failing voice in love replying. 

Prisoner in sight of liberty, and dying I 

No ! thou art free ! I give thee to the breeze. 
That greets thy rapid flight with sweets of May ; 

I give thee to the tall and beckoning trees. 
That were less joyous when thou wert away : 
I give thee back to all the beauteous day ! 

Back to the earth below, the sky above — 

To life, and liberty, and joy, and love ! 

True to the nature of all minstrelsy. 
Thou ownest love is life's divinest boon, 

Seeking at once thy mate, and leaving me 

Even unthanked ! But mayst thou find her soon, 
And when your mutual joy hath highest noon, 

Unscared by clouds — ^then shall I be repaid. 

Listening your music down the odorous glade ! 

And I have longings, too, dear bird, like thine — - 
Longings for life, and liberty, and love ! 

Here, in a world-wide prison, here I pine, 
Forthgazing at my own blest home — above ! * 
Where blooms the beautiful, immortal grove — 

Where flow the living streams, where angels sin 



or 



And friends I loved and lost are beckoning ! 



14 IVYWALL. 

E'en now the glory from that land of light 
Pierces my prison walls j "but when I seek, 

Lured by its brilliancy, to wing my flight, 
Alas, the world is strong and I am weak ! 
But soon, full well I know, a Friend will speak. 

Kindly, the word of power, and I shall rise 

Free from the earth and welcome to the skies ! 



Night — and alone : yet not alone. 

For round me are my books — 
A thousand friends ! so fondly known ! 
So all my own ! 

What friends are like my books ! 

I know that in these iron times, 

And in this Labor Land, 
To love the Muse is worst of crimes — 
And yet, sweet Rhymes ! 

I dare to love ye still ! 

Therefore around my pictured room 
In all her graceful forms appears 

Bright Poesie ! Her Heaven-caught bloom, 
In joy or gloom. 
Dear to my soul, and blest ! 



IVYWALL. 15 

What concerts of angelic kind 

Within these narrow walls are heard, 

When Milton— and the Mighty Mind, 
The Unconfined, 
The Bard of Avon, sing ! 

When, ever and anon, the voice 

Of many another Bard glides in ; 
And I, luxurious, have my choice, 
To weep — rejoice — 

Be gay or sad at will I 

I number not among my friends, 

My book-friends, one of those 
Who in Religion's name contends^ 
And fiercely bends 

The controversial bow ! 

Leave me alone to love and song, 

For love is wise, and song is good ! 
My guardians have they been from wrong. 
And will, ere long, 

Welcome me home, to God ! 

Nor have I, 'mid my thousand, one 

Who talks to me of party strife. 
Such slanderous wars — who will — who run — 
I care for none : 

Leave me to pensive Peace ! 



16 IVYWALL. 



'0itI-S0njj» 



Thou hast gone to tlie Home of tlie Highest, 

Through the beautiful gates of the stars ! 
Thy wings are like snow, and thou fiiest, 

Exulting, set free from thy bars. 
And the world is beneath thee forever. 

And past are its shadows and fears : — 
But wilt thou forget us ? Ah, never ! 

Nor leave us, unloved, in our tears ! 

For the spirits of dear-ones departed 

Look down from the region of love. 
With a smile so sincere and warm-hearted 

That it kindles the seraphs above 3 
It glows 'mid the ranks of the Holy, 

Its sympathy circles the sky. 
And, raised by its glory, the lowly 

With angel-like rapture reply ! 

The world in its grandeur is only 

The footstool of Him on the Throne ; 
We wander the world, and are lonely. 

And the day and the night hears our moan , 
But God, and the good whom He taketh. 

With tenderness see us and aid, 
And we die, and our true life awaketh, 

''Where no one shall make us afraid !'' 



IVYWALL. 17 



3tm 0f tl]e (BMx gaiis* 

It was the changeful April time, 

The time of sun and showers, 
And the timid leaves, they were peeping forth. 

And the delicate-tinted flowers. 

Glowing and balmy the day had been. 

Like a day of summer's pride. 
And its beauty conquered every heart. 

Like the presence of a bride. 

Night stole upon the landscape now. 

Serene and starry night; 
Soon would the moon come over the hill. 

Where shone her herald. Light. 

Two grey, fantastic clouds appeared, 

Two clouds like living things. 
Gigantic vultures of the Alps, 

Meeting with outstretched wings. 

" I fear it V a trembling maiden spoke. 
And lowered her large, dark eyes. 

" Fear not ! 'Tis only the sultry day," 
A manly voice replies. 

" Not that ! not that !" said the maiden fair, 
" No tempest would I fear, 



18 IVYWALL. 

But to leave tlie home I have loved so long, 
But to leave my father dear V 

^' 0, father ! father ! can I forget 
How kind thou hast been to me ! 
Shall a daughter leave thy feeble age 
To a stern world's mockery I" 

" Be calm ! Thy tears are burning tears, 
They burn into my heart !" 
He caught that small and fevered hand, 
But still would the hot tears start. 

"Be calm ! I love thee with all my soul ! 
I know thou lovest again ! 
'Tis a vow in Heaven ! What power of earth 
Shall ever unbind the chain ! 

" Not with cruelty speak I now, 

But to-night thy choice must be : 
A father's command — or a lover's vow ! 
Reflect, and answer me I" 



'') 



There was a struggle of many thoughts 
In the maiden's troubled breast : — 

She cast herself in her lover's arms. 
And thus was her choice confest ! 

He hath placed the young girl's drooping form 

On the back of an eager steed ; 
His lordly stride another feels — 

And away with breathless speed ! 



'j 



IVYWALL. 19 

Away, the bounding steeds, away ! 

Tlirougli tlie wood, and by the sea ! 
Once only tlie maiden looks behind, 

With a wild look, tearfully ! 

It is the tower, the tower of home, 

It is the taper's light, 
Where her father bends o'er the learned page, 

So far into the night. 

And over the tall, dark tower appear 

Two clouds, like living things : 
Alas, no more an idle dream 

Are now those vulture wings ! 

But away ! away ! " Be calm, my love ! 

To-morrow shall all be well !" 
Her lover's words came sad to her 

As the sound of a midnight knell ! 

" Thy father shall we see again. 

We shall know his forgiving smile !" 
She cast her eyes to Heaven, to pray : — 
The clouds grew dark the while. 

Darker and darker grew the clouds, 

More strange and vast their form ; 
The lightning flashed to light the path 

Where heavily rolled the storm. 

What hurrying tramp on the winding shore ^ 
Ha ! see by the lurid glare — 



20 IVYWALL. 



The long, wliite beard, and tlie streaming locks- 



Tlie old man ridino; there 1 



o 



Riding there, at the head of his troop, 

To claim his faithless child. 
A broad, bright flash of the lightning wrath, 

And their own as sudden and wild ! 

Bj the father's arm the lover falls. 
Dead on the desert shore : 
'■' Traitor ! Receive thy recompense !" 
And the deed of blood was o'er. 

Sprang away the masterless horse. 

Stood all the troop aghast : 
The old man turned — 0, God ! how soon 

His avenging passion past ! 

For rider and steed — his own fair child — 
Dead — dead by the lightning stroke I 

And over her pallid face he bent — 
He bent — no word he spoke. 

Softly he touched her pallid cheek. 

Gently he raised her head. 
His men did tremble all with fear, 

When he laughed above the dead ! 

" Ha, ha ! ha, ha !" he laughed aloud : 
"Sir Bard, an epitaph ! 
An old fool's dauo-hter ! Ha ! ha ! ha !" — 
It was a maniac's laugh ! 



IVYWALL. 21 



uu D^iJnting 



This morning, from my city home, 
Over the green fields straying, 

I met, all robed in dresses white. 
The merry maidens Maying : 

The merry maidens Maying, 
And a beau for every belle, 

Who, like a knight of the olden time. 
Did guard his treasure well. 

Their voices mingled sweetly. 
And their artless laughter rose, 

And life to them seemed a sunny May, 
That would never, never close ! 



■J 



Each proudly bore the prize of flowers, 
Still adorned with diamond dew. 

Lovely and glad was all to see. 
For the world to all was new. 

And I felt the influence beaming 

Pleasantly over my heart. 
And in all their joy and dreaming 

I took a willing part. 



22 IVYWALL. 

Keturning again to childliood, 

And the happiness of May, 
And the maiden, with golden tresses, 

My sweetheart all the way. 

And the group beneath the blossoming trees, 

And the crowning of the Queen, 
And the feast, and dance, and the lightsome song 

That ever would rise between. 

I felt no longer old, 

In the memory of those hours. 
And I stooped and gathered a handful 

Of little starry flowers. 



Again the bright and pleasant days 

Are coming ! Look around ! 
The brook in joyous freedom strays, 

With its old, familiar sound ! 

The flowers that loved the sparkling brook 

Will hear its jubilant call. 
And one by one from the margin look. 

Nodding their gay heads all ! 



IVYWALL. 23 

And trees will areli their boughs above, 

And the sunbeams, here and there, 
Will pierce the shade, as the light of love 

Visiting dark despair I 

And hills and dales once more assume 

Their many-tinted green. 
And birds, amid the wildering bloom, 

Make fairy-land the scene ! 

But dearer than ever, a thousand times dear. 

To me will the beauty of Spring-time appear. 

For Fanny — who drooped in the fierce winter hours — 

Hath Spring-time again, and will bloom with the flowers ! 

She will rise, she will live, and her presence impart 
The warmth of the May to my winter-cold heart, 
As she moves hke an angel, whose soft-spreading wings 
Bear sweetness and pleasure, surpassing the Spring's I 



24 IVYWALL. 



Beautiful Fanny, when I saw thee first, 

Thy bloom was that of some sweet rose-hucl, nurst 

With tenderness, beneath a foreign sky, 

Unfolding timidly its charms ; and I 

Grazed on that rare and delicate surprise, 

And loved thee, even while within my eyes 

The tear of pity came. These mingled feelings 

Were caused by fancy's bright and dark revealings ; 

My love was like a day of happiness, 

My fear was like a cloud, that told distress 

Advancing swiftly, soon, perchance, to shade 

All the dear light thy dawning beauty made. 

I loved thee, not alone because thy face 

And slender form possessed unusual grace, 

But also, and the more, because I found 

A spirit there that never would be bound 

By the cold world's decrees, but freely live. 

And gladly through its course its magic giv^ 

Of innocent joy, to make each sighing breast 

A temple for that Heaven-descended guest. 

And then I feared for thee, I pitied thee. 

Lest wrong and sharp deceit should presently 

From cruel hearts assail. So true wert thou. 

So unsuspecting was thy placid brow. 



I have learned better since. The GrOD who gave 
Thy spirit's artlessness, was strong to save. 



IVYWALL. 25 

'Twas May-Day eve. Among tlie forest trees 
Came wildly wandering forth the pleasant breeze, 
And slanting fell the sunset rays of gold, 
And down the rocky hill the streamlet rolled, 
With ringing laugh of music. And again, 
And still at intervals, the sweet, shrill strain 
Of birds came by. But now a sweeter song 
Uprose. It was a young and white-robed throng 
Of happy girls who sang, presenting one 
A crown of flowers. The coronation done, 
And thou the Queen, dear Fanny ! every eye 
Grew brighter, welcoming thy kind reply. 
Then songs and dances made a fairy scene, 
And ne'er so glad a court, so loved a Queen I 
No envy there ; each pretty, blushing Miss 
Came forward with her offering — a kiss. 
Each owned thee fairest, every heart sincere 
Confessed thee dearest still, where all were dear ! 

Thus ended May-Day, and it was the last 

With school and school-companions. Spring-time passed, 

And summer, bringing beauty to the earth. 

Brought brighter charms to thee, more f>;entle mirth, 

But still-increasing pleasure, though, alone, 

Pensive, or reading, hour and hour hath flown. 

Still wert thou happy then, and more than ever, 

Thy mind expanding, with its proud endeavor 

To clasp the infinite, in truth and love. 

All good the woi-ld contains, and wisdom, peace, above I 

Yet other seasons saw thee seeming sad. 
No charm the book, the song, the pencil, had, 
3 



26 IVYWALL. 

To win tliy brightness back. If friends appeared, 
No more tlieir merry words, tlieir laughter cheered. 
But hark ! a well-known step is on the street, 
And — Fanny ! Fanny ! 

But when lovers meet 
Let no eye see, no listening ear attend. 
Let every tongue its silly babbling end ! 
Those times were sacred. Even the poet will. 
For once — it is a mighty task ! — be still ! 

Time flies — but not to lovers, when apart : 
Love's dial, marked upon a lover's heart. 
How slow its shade, again how swiftly, moves ! 
Wouldst know time's progress ? Ask not one who loves ! 

And yet the summer's pride, the winter's gloom 

Departed, and the spring began to bloom. 

And May-Day came once more, and on that Day 

Stood Fanny, blushing in a bride's array. 

And words were spoken that embraced a life : 

A glad young lover claimed a loving wife. 

How looked their trustful souls through future time 1 

What pictures formed they of a joy sublime ! 

The world was love, there was no world beside ! 

Beautiful world ! wjiere God Himself is guide ! 

And time passed on. Their hearts were truly one. 
And those its gentle beauty beamed upon. 
Received the light with smiling. Tearful eyes f 

Looked up with gratitude and sweet surprise, 






H 



IVYWALL. 27 

And blest tliem. And along their peaceful way 
The sun was ever bright, the flowers were ever gay ! 

And time passed on. Once more the spring was green. 
And where was Fanny ? 

There ! Her face serene, 
But pale — so pale ! The joy of love is fled : 
One silent stands, bending above the dead, 
Mournfully, mournfully ! The dead are two — 
A child, whose moments here were only few, 
As if a cherub came to call the wife, 
Then both departed to the Better Life ! 



I WROTE a song, a sweet-toned song, 
Of love, when I was young. 

It was, mayhap, a silly strain — 
I care not — Ella sung ! 

And from its gentle melody 
The bliss of Eden sprung ! 

I wrote of deep philosophy — 
The world, approving, read. 

I smiled, but even as I smiled 
The transient pleasure fled : 

I thought upon an old-time song — 
I thought of Ella— dead 1 



28 IVYWALL. 

T wrote to-day a single verse, 

First written long ago, 
Once sung by her whose form the earth 

Never again may know : 
It soon shall be my epitaph, 

The cypress shade below. 



TriEY tell me I am old : 

In the dreary Winter, well, 'tis so ; 
But when I walk the hills of Spring, 

My glad heart answers : " No !" 

The pale green, peeping grass. 

The little star-like flowers. 
The brook just free, the blossoming tree — 

Ah, they give me back young hours ! 

And down in the shadowed vale. 
Where the beautiful willows wave. 

Sweet trysting-place of my timid love — 
Of my love who is in her grave ! 

Not there — not there ! I must not go there ; 

For the vale of my young delight, 
'Tis a lonesome place, and its shadows fall 

On my heart like a haunted night. 



IVYWALL. 29 

I, that loved her so well, 

I — poor, dreaming boy ! — 
That dreamed a dream of Heaven on earth — 

Alas, for earthly joy ! 

Not there — not there ! I must not go there, 

But over the hills away, 
For the Spring is abroad, like an angel of peace, 

And her summons I obey. 

Spring, she is sent from Heaven, 

Not only to gladden the earth. 
But repeat to the soul, and still to repeat, 

The boon of its second birth. 

And whatever cares I have known. 

And whatever ills surround. 
They sink like the snow — and beauty leaps 

From the lately frozen ground. 

In the sunny air, in the soothing breeze, 

I am no longer old. 
Anew in my heart blooms the rose of love. 

In my heart but now so cold. 

And down to the vale I may go again. 

Where the trysting willows wave. 
And may talk with her whom I may not see. 

With my love beyond the grave ! 



3* 



30 IVYWALL. 



O, the tliouglits that voyage ever, 

Silent, viewless, through the air ! 
Thoughts of fond-ones, sad-ones parted, 

Thoughts like angels, white and fair ! 
Day and night, day, night, forever, 

Eound the earth, nor there confined ; 
Earth and Heaven in spirit union 

By the Telegraph of Mind ! 

Ye busy crowds, from morn to even, 

Toiling through the narrow street, 
Your souls intent on golden treasure, 

Grold alone to you is sweet ! — 
Nay, not so : in all the many 

Shall ye look in vain for one 
Whose thoughts launch not upon this voyage, 

Still beginning, never done ! 

For those we all have, dear unto us, 

By the ties of nature dear. 
By the sympathy of friendship, 

By the charm of smile and tear, 
Loved-ones, now by seas divided. 

Now by mountains dark and grand. 
Or by that unmeasured ocean 

Rolling to the Spirit Land ! 



IVYWALL. 31 

I gaze upon the beaming morning, 

And I bless it, for I know, 
Up, forever, through its glory. 

How such fond Thous-hts ero ! 
I gaze upon the softening evening : 

Tireless Thoughts, ye still are there ! 
And eagerly my own thoughts join ye, 

Strong and glad with prayer ! 

Then I gaze on Men, my brothers ; 

0, my soul is fonder then ! 
For these love-thoughts, fellow-travelers, 

Teach me how divine are men ! 
Yes, divine, despite all preaching, 

Though in some things wrong and blind ; 
For Earth and Heaven are still in union 

By the Telegraph of Mind ! 



Tnou little stranger from the Spirit Land, 
Welcome to Earth ! Thou comest to us now 

To take the pilgrim staff, at GtOd's command, 
And join our long procession. Even as thou. 

So came the Infant, in the olden time. 

And walked the world, and rendered life sublime. 



32 IVYWALL, 

The path He trod is offered now to thee ] 
Walk thou therein : it is the path of peace. 

Kemembering Him, thy pilgrimage shall be 
Bordered with pleasantness, until it cease, 

And radiant angels, waiting at the end, 

Shall bear thee, joyous, to thy heavenly Friend ! 

Welcome to Earth ! Welcome, again, to Earth ! 

Call we thee " Stranger ?" Ah, thou art not so, 
For loving hearts were happy at thy birth, 

Keady with thee along thy path to go, 
Pledging to Him, who gave thee from above, 
Guidance and guard, with constant prayer and love ! 

*' God is a jealous God." Forget not, then. 
Your vow to guide aright His trusted child. 
Teach him to love and be beloved of men. 
Teach, if he sin, how sin is reconciled. 
A soul is now your charge ! Be kind and wise, 
Truly to train it for its native skies ! 

Child of my friends, though life to thee is yet 
Scarcely reality — a half-wake dream — 

A day may come — when my day may be set — 
Perchance thy wondering eyes on this may beam. 

Then, wouldst thou know who wrote thee thus — 'tis one 

Who for the parents' sake did love their son. 

My fame is little now, and may ere long 
Be nothing : love is more to me than fame. 

So I would be remembered in my song 
More by sincerity than other claim : 



IVYWALL. 33 

My heart speaks here, though all it cannot speak : 
Strong hearts in love find ever words are weak. 

Welcome, once more, and then, awhile, farewell, 
Stanley ! A warrior's name in ancient story ! 

But he from whom thou hast it — proud to tell ! — 
Hath found a brighter. way to deathless glory — 

The flower-strewn way of Art ! Learn, boy, as he, 

Virtue, in Beauty's path, with joy to see ! 

And ere thou see her, wouldst thou know how fair. 
How fond, how faithful, all-beloved she is. 

Look on thy mother's face, and learn it there ; 

And while thy look brings down thy mother's kiss, 

0, learn that Virtue's smile is like thy mother's, 

And, winning one, thou 'rt certain of the other's I 



Thou art gone, and we mourn thee as one 
Whose pilgrimage, only begun. 
With beauty and gladness attended, 
And a promise of happy years — ended ! 

Thy life was a May-Day of flowers. 
And its light and its sweetness were ours. 
For even an angel could be 
But equal in fondness to thee! 



34 IVYWALL. 

So like to tlie angels wert tliou, 

Who art of their company now, 

That we should not look round with surprise, 

That we should look alone to the skies ! 

So like to the angels : we saw 
Thy loveliness even with awe, 
And felt in thy presence the charm 
To shield us and save us from harm. 

For this didst thou come to the earth. 
The secret was this of thy birth. 
Thou hast taught us the beauty of love, 
Thou hast gone to its triumph above ! 

For this didst thou go to the skies, 
And also to teach us to rise : 
We follow : still show us the way ; 
And pray for us, Child-Angel, pray ! 



i i 



atti^/' 



So dearly loved, so worthy love, 
So fair, and lost so soon ! 

So beautiful with hope thy Spring, 
Thy Summer — ere its noon, 



Gone — gone forever ! 



IVYWALL. 35 

These flowers — and vnth. how sweet a smile ! — 

Thou gavest unto me ; 
In loveliness they still live on — 

But Death hath come to thee — 
Rose of home's Eden 1 

Yet even Death, so often harsh, 

Death, even, learned to smile : 
Thine eyes were like an angel's eyes — 

They touched his heart, the while 
His hand, descended ! 

Thou didst not see him : he had sent 

A vision on before, 
Which hid his coming : ' twas a view 

Of God's eternal shore — 

Griad angels waiting ! 

Thy soul with answering gladness spoke : 
" 0, garden ! heavenly fair ! 
Beautiful flowers !" Silence then — 
Then only Death was there ! 
She with the vision ! 

Now bring ye flowers, ye white-robed girls, 

Bring flowers of sweetest bloom — 
Dear were ye both to her ! — bring flowers, 

And strew them o'er her tomb. 
Fondly, 0, fondly ! 



38 IVYWALL. 



My friend lias told me that he loves, 

Thou«:li whom — I do not know, 
Save only, she has power to hid 

His heart's deep fountain flow. 

And this for me is proof enough 

That she is worthy love, 
That she alone has peace for him, 

His olive-bearing dove ! 

Therefore with him do I rejoice. 

Therefore with him unite 
In gratitude to Heaven and you, 

Since thus are all things right. 

^Tis right that he should choose so well, 
And you should grant his choice ; 

'Tis right that Truth with Love should dwell, 
And friend with friend rejoice. 

Here, on the altar of your hearts, 

I breathe a reverent vow : 
May He, whose sweetest name is " Love," 

Guide and protect you now ! 



IVYWALL. 87 



Gruide and protect you, day by day, 
Till all life's days be done, 

And bless you with a welcome smile 
Where love and Heaven are one ! 



<S0lll ttUt0 <i01lL 

Sometimes, in this eventful pilgrimage, 
Whose rest is in the land we know not of, 
Across our path a lovely spirit comes, 
Speaks a few words of grace and majesty, 
Or cheers and charms us with a look, a smile, 
Then leaves us in a dream ; wherein we walk. 
Year after year — still in that pleasant dream. 
Soul haunteth soul : abroad throughout the world 
Fond sympathy is seeking sympathy : 
Spirits that GrOD created like, seek like — 
Found seldom, seldom even when found retained. 
Though purest joy attends the recognition; 
And love illimitable, peace and power, 
Not for themselves alone, but all who need, 
Seem promised by the moment's interview — 
Yet strangely baffled : Why ? Go ask of Heaven 

It may be, 'mid the doubts and wild alarms 
That rise around us wheresoe'er we go, 
'Twere time unfit for such sublime communing ; 
4 



38 IVYWALL. 

It may be, we should droop with doubts and fears, 

If unsupported by such visitants, 

And, having such forever, be too blest, 

Nor further seek the Promised Land of God. 

Pilgrim, go on, rejoicing ! When thou seest ' 

One whom thou wouldst have known, and must have loved, 

Suddenly leave thee — still, go on, rejoicing ! 

Many the paths conducting to the " Rest," 

Where all shall meet at last in full delight. 

And spirit to its kindred sj^irit spring, 

Most intimate, assured ! 

0, brothers ! brothers ! 
How do I long to clasp ye to my heart, 
And find, though never we embraced before. 
Congenial love and longing throbbing there ! 



In the swift circle of one little year. 

Maiden, and wife, and mother ! 

Sweet changes — but another 
Leaves thee, lamented, here ! 
Best joy and darkest grief in that short space 

Yet now, above us, 

Ever to guard, and ever love us, 
Last change of all — ^liast thou an angel place ! 



IVYWALL. 39 



(ir|[arms. 



I saw thee smile I — 

As purely bright 

As the dewy light 
Of the odorous summer morn ! 

I heard thee speak ! — 
And words like those 
The lily and rose 

Of Eden bent to hear ! 

Tliy voice in song ! — 

All joys of love, 

All bliss above, 
Came to my raptured soul ! 



''Stout Si^ti^nu" 



The coming on of summer time — 

The growing dawn of day — 
The progress doth surpass the prime, 

Whatever old-beards say ! 
From birth to death shall nought be seen 
So beautiful as " Sweet Sixteen I" 



40 IVYWALL. 

See yonder Sage, before whose word 
We bend in reverence down — 

But Beauty ! when her voice is heard, 
Bebellion strikes the crown ! 

Easy to choose it is, I ween : 

The Lord of Mind— or " Sweet Sixteen !" 

Ah me ! the bud becomes a flower, 

Matures and fades amain ! 
Pale Beauty ! where is now thy power ? 

Thy wintry smile is vain ! 
Not so : the heart, the heart is Queen, 
Bright and eternal " Sweet Sixteen V 



fote inxis tilt Millflto. 



Like the willow-tree true love is; 
When the battling storm above is. 
Storm may bend, but may not break it, 
Gentleness will ne'er forsake it. 
Strength and gentleness together 
Arm it 'gainst the wildest weather. 
First in Spring its grace appeareth. 
Last of all, its beauty cheereth ! 



IVYWALL. 41 



Thou only Laud of Liberty ! 

Thou only Star amid the night ! 
Pale Nations, wondering, look to thee : 

Their hearts beat fast, their eyes grow bright ! 

When first thy Heaven-lit banner rose. 

It waved above the forest wild — 
The world's proud chivalry thy foes : 

And yet thy stormy morning smiled ! 

The cause of Truth, Native Land ! 

The sacred cause of Truth was thine ; 
To GrOD was raised thy armed hand : 

And lo ! a wonder and a sign ! 

A wonder, such as never Earth 

In all her revolutions gave — 
The New-World Hercules, whose birth 

The tyrant awed, and roused the brave. 

A sign, that while the stars shall burn. 
That while the rainbow spans the sky, 

The flood of wrong shall not return. 
The fires of Freedom shall not die I 

4* 



42 IVYWALL. 



When I may wander — but witli tliee no more — 
Along Potomac's leafy, rocky shore : 
There the calm water, where the glowing sky, 
With softer tints reflected, charms the eye : 
There all the glorious ranks of terraced trees, 
Bright with the sunset, vocal with the breeze : 
There, mossy rock, brook-lighted yale, sweet flowers : 
All — all will whisper me of happy hours, 
As by Potomac's memory-haunted shore 
Slowly I wander — ^but with thee no more ! 

The gentle hills to sister hills inclining ; 
The solitary groves : the gay vines twining : 
The separate trees : or two or three, which raise 
Their lovelier arms, commanding loftier praise : 
'Twas not, 'twas not in vain such fond appeal ; 
Quick was thine eye to see, thy heart to feci ; 
And, with the poet's, with the artist's thought, 
Thou gavest to Nature all the praise she sought. 
Who, therewith proud, whene'er thy sweet words fell. 
Waved thee a thousand blessings, — and — farewell ! 

When I may wander — but with thee no more — 
The wild, wild paths along Potomac's shore : 
Many the voices that shall come to me, 
]N[any the graceful forms shall picture thee ! 



IVYWALL. • 48 

Bird, breeze, and brook have cauglit thy tone for aye : 

Tlie waterfall, that in its careless play 

Leaps down the rocks — hath much of thee to say. 

'Tis in its undertone, which few can hear. 

Soft, sweet, and spirit-like — and how dear I 

Thus I with thee may wander evermore 

The charmed paths along Potomac's shore I 



When infant loveliness departs, 
A rose-bud life's untimely doom, 

Not all the rain of clouded hearts 
Can render back its bloom. 

We know our tears avail not now, 
And yet we only weep the more. 

And bend to kiss the little broAV 
Whose answering; smile is o'er. 



'& 



But let them fall, these holy tears ; 

In every heart a fountain lies, 
That conquers first, then softens, cheers, 

And fits us for the skies I 

The Son of G od through sorrow passed ; 

And grief is love — 'tis not a frown : 
The crowned in Heaven find tears at last 

The jewels of the crown ! 



44 IVYWALL. 



'Tis coming I Wheresoe'er ye be, 

Tyrants, tremble ! 
Like waves upon a stormy sea, 

Men assemble ! 
O, ye tbouglit tliem little worth I 
O, ye trod them down to earth I 
Ages, ages passed, and still 
Bent they to your iron will. 
Silent, save for helpless groans, 
Curses deep, in muffled tones. 
Curses — prayers ! To God they prayed. 
Wildly — even of Heaven afraid. 

Lest Heaven itself had scarcely power 

Or will to aid ! 
So long they saw the darkness lower, 
The awful darkness, more than night, 
How dared they hope for light ! 
But now the hour ! 
'Tis coming ! Wheresoe'er ye be, 

Tyrants, tremble ! 
An earthquake ! avalanche ! a stormy sea I 
Men assemble ! 

Ye cannot daunt — ye cannot soothe them now ! 
Behold ! a blazing star on every brow ! 



•jt 



IVY WALL. 45 

Behold ! a flaming sword in every hand 
Darts judgment tlirougli the land ! 
Run to your golden palaces ! Despair 
Shrieks in the perfumed air ! 
Ascend the glittering throne ! 
Ay, play the King ! make all your terrors known ! — 
That freezing voice is there ! 

Go forth again — clasp well your armor on, 

Bid the mad trumpet sound. 
Summon your long-tried Chiefs ! What ! traitors ! gone I 

No friend — not one — is found ? 
Proud Monarch ! Majesty, indeed, is thine I — 

Thy changeless diamonds shine ! 
No more ! no more ! Remember Nero's fate ! 
Ever •the tyrant's ! Cringing thing of hate, 
So low, so mean, even the veriest slave 
Feels nobler far than thou, more good, and wise, and brave ! 

Yet shrink not for thy life ! 

Freedom hath better strife ! 

Freedom will pass thee by ; 
And if the burning glance of Freedom's eye 

Kill not at once — then live ! 
Were fiends to torture thee, no worse their rage could give I 

The world hath had a dream ! 

Poets of every time have sung its glory. 
Sages have made it still their dearest theme, 
And calm Religion smiled to hear the story ! 
The world hath had a dream ! 
The world awakes ! 
Darkness and terror now no more supreme, 
The promised morning breaks ! 



46 IVYWALL. 

Beautiful dream of Liberty ! 

All tliou liast told shall be ! 

America ! on tliee, the first, 

Hath the lovely vision burst, 
And shines so fair its roseate light 
That far away, through ancient night, 
Look out the nations — gazing long — 

Grazing, wondering long, 
While pleasures never known before, 

A strange and conquering throng. 
Rise fast ; ^^ What sweetest boon to be 
Like thee, our Sister ! like thee I" 

'Tis coming ! Dream of bard and sage ! 

Dream the good are proud to cherish ! 
Heaven will grant the present age 

Joy that shall not perish ! 



In the cloudy and windy weather, 

The time of the falling leaf, 
By the stream in the mournful forest, 

I talk with my own heart's grief. 

And the sound of the rock-vexed waters. 

The wind in the gloomy sky. 
And the leaves in their circling dance of death- 

They all to my heart reply ! 



IVY WALL. 47 

Man, in his day of sorrow, 

Seeks not the crowd of men ; 
Lonely and desolate places 

Alone console him then. 

For brother mocketh brother, 

But Nature, with sympathy mild, 
Shares the grief of the spirit. 

Like a mother soothing her child. 

Her loving arms are open ; 

She draws to her generous breast 
All who are weary and drooping. 

And : ^'I will give ye rest !" 

Rest ! It is all I live for, 

No other ambition now ! 
The crown of the world is a crown of thorns — 

Let the olive bind my brow ! ^ 



Who smileth not when April comes, 

And all the boys are out, 
With spring-time faces, fresh and fair, 

With laugh, and leap, and shout ? 



4f*> IVYWALL. 

Remembering Aprils long ago, 

AVho smileth notagain. 
Feeling his heart grow young and glad 

In the midst of the joyous train ? 

And even the old, old man can now 
Scarce keep his trembling voice ; 

For thronging thoughts of youthful days 
Evermore cry, "Ilejoice!'' 

He would shout the merry "April fool 1" 
He would laugh " Ha ! ha !" and run ; 

Of all the careless, romping crowd, 
The loudest, wildest one ! 

But think thee, sir ! Thy locks are white, 

Thine eyes are sunken nowj 
So pale, and thin, and very old — 

What with these wouldst thou '/ 

Ah, yes ! he thinks — the grave old man — 
And tears are in his eyes : 
" I'd rather again be an ^ April fool,' 

Than the world should call me wise !" 



IVYWALL. 49 



VISITING WASHINGTON, JANUARY 8tH, 1855. 

March on ! Ye are not old to-day ! 
The lofty music's cheering sound 
The echo of the past hath found ! 
Ye are not old to-day ! 

Yon banner in your line is old, 

^Tis torn and faded — pierced by balls ; 
It waves — and all your youth recalls — 
And so ye are not old ! 

But yesterday, your step was slow, 
But yesterday, each form was bowed ;; 
To-day — of well-won victories proud,. 
Ready again for war 1 

Linger among us, meek-eyed Peace I 

These who have loved thee, these who gave 

Home, friends, lost all, thy smile to save — 

Honor and bless them long ! 

Youth of the only Freedom Land ! 

Behold ! And if the call should be 
" To arms V March on ! To Liberty 

Your sires have shown the way ! 
5 



50 IVYWALL- 



$tmcmkrtir fate. 

Now tliou dost to memory seem 

Part a truth and part a dream, 

For I am old, and long ago, 
Long ago, 
Were tliine eyes so briglit to see, 
Were tliy words so soft to me ! 
Now I know, 

If those eyes, that won my heart, 

If thy words, a bliss impart. 
Mine no more the bliss may be ! 

I am old, but yet, not yet. 

Can my soul thy youth forget, 

Can thy gentle beauty fade. 
Pine and fade — 
For the magic power of love 
Made thee like the blest above I 
Thus arrayed 

In immortality of grace, 

I ever see thy angel face. 

And still art thou my sorrow's dove ! 

Higher let the waters rise. 
Let the rain fall from the skies. 
Care I not; for thou, at last, 
Yes, at last. 



IVYWALL. 51 

Faithful dove ! with radiant wing, 

Shalt the branch of olive bring ! 
Then the past, 
All its loneliness and fear. 
All its night shall disappear ! 

Such will be thy welcoming! 



o 
FROM THE FRENCH OF LEFRANC DE P0MPI6NAN. 

The Nile has heard 
Upon its shores the desert's dusky dwellers 

By savage cries insult 
The rising Star of the Universe. 

Impotent cries ! mad fury ! 
For, while these barbarous monsters 

Utter their insolent clamors, 
The God, pursuing his high career, 
Pours torrents of still-increasing light 

On his obscure blasphemers ! 



52 IVYWALL. 



Iltg X$ titX. 



Fare-thee-well ! "We must not weep 
God Himself hath blest thy sleep, 
Making it as sweet to see 
As an infant's rest may be ! 
God is love ! 

Now, good-night ! Thy day is o'er, 
Smilest ^mid thy friends no more : 
Smilest — ah, that winning grace I 
Nevermore its joy to trace — 
Never more ! 

When thy star of life went out. 
Many hearts were sad with doubt — 
Lowly hearts, that seldom find 
Lofty hearts so true and kind — 
True and kind ! 

Beautiful wast thou with love. 
Living by the law above -, 
So that all who knew thee found 
Earth was fairer ! Now, around. 
Blessings breathe ! 



IVYWALL. 53 



In boyhood's artless days our friends are many. 
We share each other's thoughts as freely then 
As common games, and, ever, joyous dreams 
Picture the future, brighter still and brighter ; 
Ourselves alone, of all the world, unchanged. 
Or grown more dear in friendship ! 

Years pass on — 
And boyhood's laughing face wears sober manhood. 
What tale hath Time to tell ? 

We have forgotten 
The comrades loved before. Each for himself 
Perchance hath sought, what all around are seeking, 
Wealth, fame ; and this pursuit absorbs him quite. 

Yet other years pass on. Sad, tottering Age — 

Yea, sad, though wealth and fame are his at last — 

Remembers him, still vaguely, once he had 

Fond, bright-eyed friends, who made him happy — happy ! 

Would he were so again ! Where are they now ? 

He learns the history of some on tombstones ; 
Of others by report; some dead — all gone. 
To meet no more on earth. And pale and tearful. 
But with a smile anon athwart his features, 
He thinks of that near home, where Friendship lives, 
And all the loved and lost shall be restored I 
5* 



b4: IVYWALL. 



I have never known perfection 
Among the sons of Earth ; 

Yet in every bosom lingers 
Some sign of heavenly birth. 

No heart is wholly sinful, 
No thoughts are only night ; 

The gloom may change to glory, 
From the faintest ray of light I 

The darkness of long ages, 
As time is growing old — 

Do we not behold it kindle ? 

Shall its progress be controlled ? 

Still onward — ever onward, 
Shall the joyous splendor rise, 

Till the towers upon the mountains 
First reflect the golden skies. 

As man, sublimely standing 
Upon the Mount of Thought, 

Where the early beams oi beauty 
And of blessed love are caught : 



IVYWALL. 55 

While the vale is dark beneath hiin, 
Yet to smile with pleasure soon — 

When the still-advancing sunlight 
Shall climb toward the noon. 

Yes, Earth shall be delivered 

From her multitude of foes ; 
And even her wildest desert 

Shall blossom as the rose ! 

Live on^ with soul undaunted, 

Strive constantly for truth ! 
Restore the olden ages 

Their Paradise of Youth ! 

Live on, with cheerful spirit — 

Improve the passing day ! 
Ye are the favored sons of Time, 

And GrOD commands : Obey ! 



QlfW A, . . y A 



No, he would not wait to listen 
To the early birds of Spring ; 

Would not wait to see the fruit-trees' 
Rose and silver blossoming ; 

Would not wait till warmer showers, 

Love-tears, should revive the flowers ! 



56 IVYWALL. 

Voices, too, of home, so fondly 
Answered, but awhile ago. 

Now received a sighing answer, 
Or a smile that whispered " No !" 

Earth had much to bid him stay. 

Still he waved the earth away ! 

Yes, the angels up in Heaven 
Oft had sought the gentle boy, 
'^ Let him come to us !" entreating, 
'' Let him enter in Thy joy !" 
And at last were satisfied : 
And the world said : " Willie died !" 

But our noble-hearted Willie 
Would not so forsake our love : 

No, the angels lured him from us. 
For a little while, above : — 

And it is not strange they should : 

Willie was for us too good ! 

Now at last the truth is clearer ; 

He will come to us no more ! 
But where he is, Spring is ever, 

And upon the blooming shore 
Willie's welcome yet may be : 
'^ Now, indeed, 'tis Heaven to me !" 



IVYWALL. 57 



Millim u)i ^mlm. 



EPITHALAMIUM. 

f 



Sister before, and doubly Sister now, 
Bride of my Brother ! By a soul-breatbed vow 
Thy life flows musical with his, as flow 
Two sylvan brooks together. Years ago, 
Their course was near each other ; day by day 
Laughing along their wild, impetuous way. 
Glad in the song of birds, the bloom of flowers, 
Glad in the sunlight, glad in starry hours. 
Thus passed they on. I saw, with secret pride, 
Near and more near their young aff'ections glide — 
But soon a parting : thus the stronger brook 
Wanders away, and in a shadowy nook 
The sister stream seeks solitude, and seems 
Enamoured now of gentle thoughts and dreams. 
At last the restless rover finding nought 
To love like early love — returns; hath sought — 
Hath found : " these twain are one !" 

The God of love 
Smile ever on your pathway ! Skies above, 
Be cloudless ! Still along your happy course, 
Sing birds ! bloom flowers ! and crystal as its source 
Be the re-union with that halcyon sea 
Whose borders are the arms of Deity I 



58 IVYWALL 



%ij (BMlm Carrier. 

Who that remembers twenty years ago 
In Washington — ah, what a " city'^ then ! 
Its "distances" indeed "magnificent!" — • 
But readily recalls the paper-carrier ? 
At early morn, while yet the pavement trees 
Dropped dew — or icicles — ^lie sallied forth, 
Eager to ride his " route" — to ride ? ay, ride ! 
For then he moved in state, as doth become 
His intellectual office-^not, as now, 
Plodding a-foot ! The messenger of truth. 
Wisdom political, all grave affairs. 
And sometimes gay ones, laughter-moving wit, 
Sweet poesie, strange anecdote, and news 
Caught in the many corners of the world — 
Deserves to be exalted — well deserves ! 

Here at my cottage home, the " Telegraph" 

This moment falls upon the garden path, 

Close by the tree, beneath whose murmuring shade, 

Awhile ago, I sat me down, expectant. 

And 'twas the carrier of the Telegraph 

Gave back to me my youth — tJiat carrier 

Who rode sublime on horseback — this "who walks. 

And I discovered, or I fancied so, 

A likeness in the boy to him, the man — 

Perhaps his fiither — who mi/ father brought 

A "Telegraph" — on horse high-mounted, brought. 



IVYWALL. 59 

Xever will I forget liim. Tall he was, 
And, on his Rosinante's bony back, 
Nearly to earth his stirriiped feet did reach. 
There would he sit astride, and blow his horn 
With conscious dignity, to give the house 
Glad tidings of his presence ! Wondrous man ! 
How all the little boys would throng to see him, 
And stand, and stare, admiring still the more, 
Till, gathering up the reins, the majesty 
Passed on, with head erect ! 

Thus day by day 
He rode, and made a pleasure of his task, 
And when the night of Saturday arrived. 
He met his comrades where the curtains red 
Promised good entertainment : Royally 
Raising his glass, and drinking to " the Press !" 
'^ Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious !" Still 
More glorious New Year's Day, when patrons all 
Showered bright silver ! 

And the boy 's on foot I 
The son of such a sire ! Alas ! alas ! 

But why recall the past ? 'tis now a dream ; 
Let it sink back to darkness. Wherefore now 
Pity the boy because he may not ride ? 
Have I not seen, in these degenerate days, 
Editors walking? 



60 IVY WALL. 



Ill tin I'ijijt, 

Late in the niglit; and dimly 
Swift figures come and go, 

Where, under the broad trees sombre, 
The Icimps their lustre throw. 

Over the sounding pavement, 
Returning home, each one. 

The long, long labor ended. 
Or the wild, loud revel done. 

And now and then, as passing, 

Two kindly voices greet ; 
A moment, and the footfalls 

Grow fainter on the street. 

And some there be, who wander. 
And scarce could answer where. 

Gazing up to the windows — 
For them no light is there I 

But the summer stars are shining 
Sweet through the rifted cloud, 

Cheering the lonely passers, 
Alike the poor and proud. 



IVYWALL. (Jl 



Life is a checkered pathway, 
Which joys awhile illume, 

Though presently comes the shadow 
Of strange, gigantic gloom. 

And man, with labor wearied. 
Thinks of his pleasant rest : 

And he who is wild at the revel. 
Will scorn its highest zest. 

And still dim forms are passing, 

And friendly voices greet, 
Then life grows faint, departing, 

Like footfalls on tlae street. 

And some who wander homeless. 
And steal away from the light — 

To them each door is mocking. 

And a curse in each " Good-night !"- 

But that the stars of promise 
Shine through the rifted cloud ; 

And in Our Father's mansion 
Shall none be poor or proud ! 



6 



62 IVY WALL. 



Time to go liome ! Tlie afternoon, 
Tlie calm and golden afternoon, 
0, it went so very soon ! 

Dancing had they been, and singing ; 

Thus were some, and others bringing 

Flowers to deck the dancers gay, 

Fairest flowers of sunny May, 

That grew amid the si^Jien grass, 

Where the beautiful waters pass, 

Grrew upon the hill-side steep, 

Grew where placid shadows sleep. 

Round the border of the deep, 

And dark, and still old wood. 

Some — and 0, the chase was good ! — 

A wild, and laughing, shouting chase, 

Clambering now a rocky place. 

Leaping now the brook, and now 

Panting to the high hill's brow — 

Chasing ever, ever, ever, 

A butterfly, with vain endeavor. 

Vain and vain — until, at last, 

Their young and joyous strength is past. 

And down they sink to rest — to rest 

Also sinks the unpossessed. 

The glorious, and the coveted — 

Just a little overhead I 



IVYWALL. 63 

These are children : some there be 
Old, with like simplicity, 
Seeking butterflies of wealth, 
Or with strides, or steps of stealth. 
Chasing butterflies of fame, 
Or butterflies of many a name, 
Seldom caught, and little worth, 
Only of a lowly birth, 
Perishing upon the earth ! 

Time to go home ! The afternoon, 
The breezy summer afternoon. 
How was it that it went so soon ! 
Yonder comes the round, red moon ! 

Children, there may yet be years, 
Oftener bringing clouds and tears. 
Then, perchance, with upward eyes. 
Then, perchance, with longing sighs. 
Shall ye wait — nor wish to roam — 
For the welcome summons home ! 

Vain the world is : yet there be 

Things therein the angels see 

Rejoicing: even here is Love, 

A wandering smile from God above ; 

Even on the lowly ground 

Honor, Virtue, Truth are found, 

Ever to their native skies 

Looking up with dauntless eyes. 

As calm they move their destined round. 

Behold, and learn of these to rise ! 



64 IVYWALL. 

Cheerfully go on throiigli life, 

Let the sun shine, let the strife 

Of clouds prevail — it matters not — 

For night, the night of death, shall blot 

All sorrow's record : then the morn ! 

A free and happy soul is born. 

Beyond the fearful shades of Earth — 

A brighter world — a second wondrous birth I 



Far away I see thy waters, 
River of my boyhood days ! 

Kesting now in twilight slumber. 
Canopied with purple haze. 

Dark, beyond, the hills of forest 
Guard thy beautiful repose ; 

Softly shines the star of evening ; 
Forth the minstrel zephyr goes. 

Sadly sweet the days returning. 
Which my happy boyhood proved, 

When beside thy twilight waters 
I, a minstrel lover, moved. 



IVYWALL. 65 

Thou wast half my inspiration, 

All the rest some rosy child , 
Who had lighted np my spirit 

With her large eyes, blue and mild ! 

Darker grows the city round me ; 

River, thou art fading fast, 
Yet I see the sky reflected, 

See the starlight o'er thee cast. 

Darker grows the world around me. 

Soon must fade whate'er I love ; 
Then may Heave»be in my bosom ! 

Then the Star of Hope above ! 



Lady, unto thee belong 
Melodies of sacred song, 
Such as only seldom rise 
Underneath the daylight skies, 
But in mystic dreams of night 
Fill the soul with proud delight ! 



Oftentimes I dreamed of these 
Heaven-ascending harmonies, 
6* 



66 IVYWALL. 

Till, meseemed, the Golden Gate, 
Where the angel guardians wait, 
Backward swung — and Heaven was there, 
O, surpassing sweet and fair ! 
Then, awaking, still I found 
Common scenes of Earth around. 
Ever, till to-day — and now 
Is it still the dream — or thou ? 

Thou, a maiden fond and young — 
^Twas a mortal maiden sung ! 
Youth and beauty ne'er may be 
So sublime a sight to sjge, 
As when her conquering voice ascends. 
While her heart with the music blends. 
Voice, and heart, and beaming eyes, 
Each expressing harmonies. 
Which the angels love to hear. 
Which to God Himself are dear ! 



Wpiither shall fancy wander 
To find an image for thee. 

Over the earth, or the heavens. 
Or down in the caverned sea ? 



IVYWALL. 67 

The queenly rose, or the lily, 

That shares her summer reign, 
A bird, a pearl, or a diamond, 

Their charms bestow in vain. 

Yet fair art thou, and noble, 

And worthy a royal name ; 
But more than beauty and grandeur 

Is only thy proper claim : 

The true, fond soul of Woman ! 

A flower from the Land of Love, 
A bird that bringeth to mortals 

Music from bowers above : 

A gem whose infinite value 

The world can but dimly know. 
Till God, when He gathers His jewels. 

Its Heaven-born glory show ! 



Thou hast the angel gift of beauty, 
Tint of rose adorns thy cheek, 

Vermil is thy lip, and sweetly 
Do thy dark eyes speak. 

Those who see thee lightly passing, 
Think of music, spring, and love, 



08 IVYWALL. 

Think of dreams that strangely wander 
Earth-ward from above. 

Think — until the sorrow-shrouded, 
Sighing spirit learns to smile, 

Feeling all its happy youth-days 
Thronging back the while — 

Thronging back, with kind emotions. 
Kind and vast, embracing all. 

Pure as sunbeams, sweet as showers 
In their summer fall ! 

Thus, where'er thou movest, pleasure, 
Grentleness, and virtue rise, 

Proving GrOD created beauty 
Both for heart and eyes. 

Then remember, lovely maiden, 
Messenger of Heaven art thou : 

Bear thee well, that still thy pathway 
Be as fair as now. 

One by one, through circling seasons. 
One by one, thy charms shall go : 

Yet thy home-advancing spirit 
Prouder grace may know. 

This be now thy wish, thy effort ; 

Blooming Earth owns nought so bright 
As the heart-rose, fondly opening 

To the "perfect light!" 



IVYWALL. 69. 



®h fifllct. 

' And now good-nightj dear father^ 

Good-night, and pleasant rest ! ' 
She loved him, and her sweet young lips 

Her love with a kiss exprest : 
' Good-night again, dear father ! 

How very dear art thou ! 
A mother's and a sister's love — 

In thee I seek them now; 
For both have left me, father, 

And sleep in the grave-yard green, 
Where, under the drooping willow. 

The violet smiles serene — 
The violet, beautiful flower ! 

Should make my poor heart wise ; 
Though lowly, 'tis loving, and ever 

Weareth the tint of the skies ! 
And I, too, will look to Heaven, 

And Heaven shall be in my heart ; 
So again good-night, dear father — 

'Tis time, indeed, we part ! 
See, the moon is sinking yonder, 

Behind the dark, wild shore, 
And unless 1 say good-night at once. 

The night will be no more ! 
Good-night ! ' 



70 IVYWALL. 

' Good-niglit^ my daughter ! 
God bless thee, child ! Good night !' 

The hours stole on in silence, 
And slowly came the light. 

The light that bringeth gladness — 

Yet still the maiden slept ^ 
A tear was on her rosy cheek, 

For in her dream she wept. 
But not a tear of sorrow — 

Her lips retained their smile, 
Like April, when the rain descends 

In sunshine all the while. 
Perchance she had been dreaming 

Of those she loved — the dead — 
When joy came up with her father's look. 

And sighing fancies fled. 

The light that bringeth gladness — 

It dawned : the father slept : 
The parting smile of blessing 

His aged face still kept. 
And presently, to see it. 

The gentle maiden woke, 
And bent above his slumber. 

And morn's glad greeting spoke. 
O, sweet and tender accents ! 

^Twas music, all she said : 
But still no loving answer — 

She bent above the dead ! 



IVYWALL. 71 

The violet, beautiful flower ! 

The violet smiles serene, 
Under the drooping willow, 

AYithin the grave-yard green. 
'Tis lowly, 'tis loving, and ever 

Weareth the tint of the skies. 
Teaching a lonely maiden, 

And making her sad heart wise. 
x\.nd I, too, will look to Heaven, 

And Heaven shall be in my heart ; 
And the morning will come, dear father. 

When we no more shall part !' 



%\lt Slaii 0f tilt llowntain; 

I left the city, and the mountain land 

Was like another world. I climbed the height. 
And from a vine-clad ruin saw expand 

The vale, in beauty of the sunset light. 

Descending then I wandered where a bright 
Impetuous brook ran gracefully along. 
And lured me still with laughter-mingled song. 

I rested underneath the grand old trees, 

I read — I wrote the strange-inspired rhyme ; 

Music was round me, with the birds — the breeze 
With sweets of Paradise. And thus the time 
Went happily. Far off, the blue sublime 



72 IVYWALL. 

Of mountain-peaks was all the while so fair, 
Meseemed 'twas Heaven, and angels hovered there ! 

Yet came a pleasure dearer than the rest : 
I found a fair young girl, whose loving heart 

Was tuned to poesie. My heart confessed 
Its joy complete. And still I must depart. 
I go, but pause a moment ere I start, 

To bless thee, and to wish thee golden days, 

Heaven-lit^ till Heaven itself reward thy upward gaze I 



The flowers and trees, at Ivywall, 
The birds and breeze, at Ivywall, 

Are pleasant things, 

But (less the wings) 
An angel comes to Ivywall ! 

On velvet ground, at Ivywall, 
With ivy bound, at Ivywall, 

When skies are bright. 

The hours of light 
The dial tellS; at Ivywall. 

A seat is made, at Ivywall, 
Within the shade, at Ivywall ; 

Loueva there 

Enchants the air. 
And time 's forgot, at Ivywall ! 



IVYWALL. 78 



The winding walks, at Ivy wall, 
The changeful talks, at Ivjwall ! 

The charms appear 

Of Eden here— 
An angel comes to Ivywall ! 



Absence. 

Death and absence so resemble — 
Now, my love, thou art away. 

When I think of thee, I tremble. 
Lest thou 'rt gone for aye ! 

Here, among my books, I wait thee, 
Books and pictures, dear to me ; 

Come, my love, and gladness freight thee. 
Home-bound, o'er the sea. 

Could'st thou know how sad my heart is, 
In the midnight, here, alone — 

Could'st thou know how poor a part i.s 
Life without my Own ! — 

Could'st thou see me read thy letters, 
Lingering on each glowing line, 

Till the cruel Now makes fetters 
Even of flowers divine ! — 



74 IVYWALL. 

Could'st tliou see my friends around me- 
llow I strive to talk and smile, 

Feeling still new tortures wound me, 
More^ and more, the while — 

How, when friends, at last, departing, 
Awfully the silence lowers, 

And, like one distraught, up-starting, 
How I moan the hours ! 

How I chide my wayward madness, 
Saying : " Peace, jDcace, my soul ! 

Take the harp ! Therein is gladness ! 
Taste the wreathed bowl ! " 

But no more my soul obeys me, 
But no more the harp is sweet, 

But the wreathed bowl betrays me. 
With a strange deceit ! 

Yonder landscape, golden bordered, 
Is it not as charming still ? 

No ! Its colors, all disordered — 
Who could paint so ill ! 

Here 's a page with beauty beaming, 
Like a crystal, summer tide. 

While below its fair waves, gleaming, 
Diamond truths reside. 

No ! It is a fickle beauty, 
Not for me such beauty cold ; 



IVYWALL. 75 

And its " diamond truths " of duty — 
Give them to the old ! 

Hark ! the wind-harp ! Rising, falHng ! 

Hath the world such dulcet strain ! 
Is it not some spirit calling 

Wanderers home again ! 

Now no more it brings me pleasure, 

Though my fond delight before : — 
Wilt thou whisper him of treasure 

Who hath lost his glittering store ! 



SirtI]-i(iH. 



How long it takes to die I 
My laboring breath 
Draws nearer death. 
A cry, 
A sigh, 
Thus begins, and thus goes on, 
Life — the strange ! 
Then a change — 
A groan, and life is gone ! 

Toys of childhood please me not. 
Toys of later years forgot. 



76 IVYWALL. 

What may coming years bestow ? — 

If such coming years be mine ? 
Toys ! which I may live to throw 
Away, 

Some wiser day — 
And then for new ones pine ! 

Life is not the end of life ; 

If it were, how sad to live ! 
Doubt, and fear, and wrong, and strife- 

What boon were this to give ! 

Cease, my soul, and know thy fetter 
Now not long shall bind thee here :- 

Time hath worn it. Soon a better, 
Happier sphere. 

Shall be thine, set free forever, 

Eising still, aweary never, 
Till to thee. 
All the grandeur, all the grace 
Of the Father's smiling face 

In highest Heaven revealed shall be ! 

Take, then, take the gifts of life, 
Well remembering Him who gave. 

Doubt, and fear, and wrong, and strife- 
Are they ills ? or meant to save ? 

He w^ho wanders in the night, 
Having yet a fiiithful Guide, 

Shall he say : " It is not right I " 
Shall he turn aside ? 



IVYWALL, 77 



gpe^, ''Sire |aitg Star/' 

A dream of beauty, gentleness, and love, 

Comes to all hearts, for Heaven such light bestows, 
That images the charm of worlds above. 

And smiles away the earth-born cloud of woes. 

By day, by night, the radiant vision goes. 
Whispering from heart to heart; and now the tone, 

Or now the smile, is all the dreamer knows. 
Save that the dream of Heaven to Heaven hath fiown. 
Rest thee, fair spirit ! leave us not alone ! 

Longing, we look, and, listening, learn of thee — 
Agnes, of thee ! for, answering our hearts' moan. 

Heaven said : " Let beauty live ! Let Agnes be V 
Love-dream^s reality ! yet dream-like still ! 
Thy diadem a smile, thy realm the he«art and will ! 



78 IVYWALL. 



The love of whicli the poets sing 
Is but a flower, a fragile thing, 
Nursed by many a smile and tear, 
Yet doomed to die before the year ! 

'Tis beautiful to see — and so 

Is yonder many-colored bow, 

That springs among the showery shades, 

And in its sudden grandeur — fades ! 

The love most worthy poets' song 
Is also fair, and liveth long, 
It blossoms, ripens day by day, 
And winter takes not all away. 

Sweet is the fruit of blessed love ! 
Like manna sent by God above. 
When hope no otherwhere is found, 
What instant joy it spreads around ! 

The light of love is like the sun, 
Or like the moon, when day is done, 
Or like the stars — for still a light 
For love shines, e'en in darkest night ! 



IVYWALL. 79 



And love shall never want on eartli, 
And love shall have a brighter birth, 
The moment it may vanish here — 
Triumphant in a deathless sphere ! 



|0^ SrembU. 

"WHERE there's SMOKE, THERE MUST BE FIRE ! " 

Sultry the day was, though a day in Spring-time, 
One of those days that suddenly come on us, 
Making us feel luxuriously lazy, 

Nothing inclined to : 

Nothing at all, unless, with chair tilted, 
Feet on the window-sill, head cushioned softly, 
Through smoke of cigar good, forth to gaze, sleepy, 

Wondering at passers : 

Wondering that any for pleasure should walk now. 
Pitying any whom business out-urges. 
Yet smoothing the while the beard of the spirit, 

That we can be idle ! 

Such was the season, and such the position, 
Up in his garret, Joe Tremble, Esquire, had 



80 IVY WALL. 

Taken, in comfort to pass tlie dull liour, and 

Smoke after dinner I 

Joe was a Clerk — ^had for six months, and over. 
Served our great Country, and paid his own debts oJBf- 
Mouthly instalments — till now they were paid all, 

Minus ten dollars. 

So, he was thinking of next happy '^ pay day," 
And how, when his creditors ceased to be creditors. 
Careful of money, he'd save, and get married — 

Yes — and set married ! 



t)^ 



Further I tell not : but there he sat, smoking, 
Smoke all around him, still rising, and rising, 
Out from the window up-curling, and mounting 

Slow to the chimney^ 

Down on the pavement some boys were at marbles. 
Near, at the pump, stood a girl with a bucket : 
The marbles stopped rolling — the bucket ran over — 

A dog began barking. 

Alarm rose of " fire !" — grew louder and louder — 
Engine-bell joined it, and swift came the engine — 
Pump-handle rattled — a strong stream dashed upward- 
Dousing Joe Tremble ! 

Knew he nought of it until that wild moment ! 
Tumbled he over, and dripping retreated. 
Bounding down stairs in alarming commotion, 

Spraining his ankle ! 



IVYWALL. 81 

Crowded the liall was, with furniture various, 
Crowded the pavement with ditto : — he cleared it — 
Breaking a mirror — appalling the movers — 

Flying and screaming ! 

Thus was cold water dashed over his musing ; 
Thus — for Joe Tremble, Esquire, was timid- 
Lost he his loved-one, who laughed at him, so that 

He would no more see her ! 

Eeader ! whoever thou art, be attentive ! 
Ponder the evils that issue from smokins: ! 
Sad to lose lady-love — shocking is water-cure ! 

Think of Joe Tremble ! 



To-DAY, this hour, in fair Virginia's land. 
My friends have spoken love's eternal vow ; 

Heart hath been pledged to heart, and hand to hand 
These two are one, let none divide them now ! 

Sweet is the rising of the light of love, 

Grladness goes with it on its brightening way, 

Hymns of the happy hail it from above. 

And GtOd's own smile crowns it with perfect day. 



82 IVYWALL. 

Evil, that hid among the Eden bowers, 

With hot breath. blasted all the garden's charm, 

The tall trees drooped, and death struck pale the flowers, 
But love grew fonder in the strange alarm. 

Love went from Eden, yet where'er love went 
Was Eden still, and still where love shall go, 

Beauty and joy shall cheer its banishment, 
And Evil weep his ineffectual woe. 



Child of my childhood's friend, 
I 've seen thee first to-night : 

Thy tiny lips were wreathed with a smile, 
And thine eyes were softly bright. 

Joyous wast thou to hear 

Thy father's fondling song ; 
Joyous to see thy mother's face, 

With its love-look sweet and long; ! 



'& 



Over thee still may shine 

Affection's heavenly ray ! 
May it light thy path o'er the dangerous Earth, 

And guide to " the better way !" 



IVYWALL. 83 



'gm Pap 0f |b|toHll 

Rosa Maye of Ivy wall ! 
Ah, tlie dreams lier looks recall I 
But none may be so sweet as she, 
My Rosa Maye of Ivywall ! 
The Graces, with their circling arms, 

As something all divine enclose her. 
And so admire her heavenly charms, 
They even forget to envy Rosa I 
Rosa Maye of Ivywall ! 

Rosa Maye of Ivywall ! 
Beauty's smiles are joy to all, 
But bliss above the looks of love 

Hath Rosa Maye of Ivywall ! 
What though the world may call her queen, 

My heart a prouder title owes her, 
And one true heart is more, I ween, 
Than thousand thrones to gentle Rosa ! 
Rosa Maye of Ivywall ! 



S4 IVY WALL. 



Far from tlie city's stifling lieat, 

I found a green^ sequestered shade. 
The cedar-scented winds were sweet; 
The waters, murmuring at my feet, . 
Allured me down the glade. 

In grandeur stood the brave oak trees, 
In beauty grew the flowering vine ; 
Here, would the waving harvest please. 
There, butterflies, and birds, and bees : 
A glad new world was mine 1 

I gave my soul to pleasure then, 

I gazed upon the earth, the sky. 
The weary, weary "haunts of men,'* 
My ceaseless task of book or pen, 
Went like a vision by. 

That vision went, another came, 
The fairest that may ever be I 
A maiden, with a gentle name, 
Fond " Mary," dearest yet to fiime, 
In far-voiced poesic ! 



lYYWALL. 85 

All then, what charms the landscape caught ! 

What softer colors glowed above ! 
For earth and sky at once were fraught 
With graces of commingled thought, 
And eloquence of love ! 

Hereafter, when the boon is mine 

To look on Nature's summer pride, 
A consecrated light shall shine 
To cheer my soul — for, Mary, thine 
Will then before me glide ! 



i0ir i^ §uxL 

Life is passing, passing fleetly. 

Yet to music let it go ; 
Heaven is pleased to see it sweetly. 

Gaily flow : 
Joy on earth is praise above ; 
And our Father's name is Love ! 

Beautiful the world around us : 

If terrific shades of ill 
Sometimes in their chain have bound us 

"Peace! be still!" 
Shades they are, and only shades : 
Lo, the chain dissolves and fades ! 
8 



86 IVYWALL. 

What are these our arms entwining ? 

Not the iron links — but flowers ! 
Shall we question God's designing ? 

God is ours ! 
We are His : and Father, child. 
Loving much, are reconciled ! 

In His glory, all-excelling, 

Looks He down, well pleased to see 
Joy illume our lowly dwelling ! 

Let it be ! 
They are wrong who speak of woe : 
Let our life to music flow ! 



SPOKEN AT THE ANNUAL CELEBRATION OF ST. ANDREW'S SOCIETY, WASHINGTON, 1859. 

Where is Scotland ? In the North, 

In the wintry regions, 
AVhere the thunder-voiced storm 

Calls his cloudy legions ! 

Where is Scotland ? In the South, 

In the land of flowers. 
Where immortal summer smiles 

In her orange bowers ! 



IVYWALL. 87 



Where is Scotland ? In the East, 
By the sun's appearing, 

Beautiful beneath the palm, 
Eden's sorrow cheerino- ! 



'& 



Where is Scotland ? In the West, 

By the sun's declining. 
Freedom's GoD-built dome above, 

And her pure stars shining I 

Scotland ! Scotland ! every where ! 

Where is told the story 
How the Bruce of Bannockburn 

Fought for deathless glory ! 

Scotland I Scotland ! every where ! 

Where the heart of maiden 
Throbs to hear the song of Burns, 

Love and rapture laden ! 

Scotland ! like thy circling waves, 

Wide and wide extending, 
Now thou dost embrace the world, 
♦ Power and beauty blending ! 

Scotland ! hail ! across the sea ! 

Scorner of foul weather ! 
Scotland ! hail ! where two or three 

Of thine are met together ! 



88 IVYWALL. 



|p. 



My heart is so mucli younger tlian my face, 

That I am startled when myself I see, 
And cannot on the mirror's surface trace 

Save a poor counterfeit resembling me. 
The snows of time that rest upon my head, 

Fall from a beautiful and smiling sky, 
While earth in summer pomp is garnished. 

And dreams of glory glide serenely by. 
Thus in the world the world esteems me old, 

But thuS; despite the world, I am not so ; 
My summer heart laughs at the winter's cold, 

My rose of life looks blooming through the snow. 
The lamp hath stains of age, and may be broken ; 
The light — from God — is an eterm^l token ! 



IVYWALL. 89 



^wYxu ^xxxhL 



A picture by J. M. Stanley, in the Smithsonian Institution. It has attracted 
much attention, not only for the singular custom of placing the dead among the 
boughs of a tree, but for the pathos and poetry of the whole composition. In 
such subjects Stanley is without a rival. 

Yes, ye are there ! Beneath the tree 
Whose fading leaves, in evening's breath, 
Sing, faintly sing, the song of death, 
And tell how brave was he ! 

Yes, ye are there ! Ye mourn the dead. 
The warrior form above ye placed. 
His last sad home by flowers embraced. 
The light boughs round it spread. 

Last of your race ! — The white-haired sire — 
How desolate is age in grief! 
"Where now thy pride, O, mighty Chief ! 
Where now- thy battle fire ! 

Weary to thee the world is now. 

Love, war, no more may move thy breast ; 
And yet one heart is more distressed — 
The mother more than thou ! 

He was her child. His infant smile. 
His earliest word — they were for her 
8* 



90 IVYWALL. 

Love's liglit, and joy's interpreter, 

And earth was Heaven the while. 

In after years, his manly form 

Was pride to thee — to her ^twas love ; 
Her soul was near him like the dove — 
Thine, like the rushing storm ! 

Yet, mother of the brave departed, 
Thou bendest over one who bore 
More love for him — yes, mother, more ! 
And is more broken-hearted I 

His wife ! Her face is hidden low. 
Her prostrate attitude is grief, 
Down to the earth ! For thy relief 
Hope may be ! Hers — ah, no I 

He who is dead, thou gavest him life. 
Therefore for him thy love was great ; 
He who is dead — her soul's lost mate — 
Mother, she was his wife ! 

On the soft bosom of yon cloud, 
Glowing in sunset's parting ray. 
Behold ! ^Tis gliding now aWay ! 
Manito's truth avowed ! — 

A dove. His spirit ! Grrieve it not ! 
Manito to the sorrowing heart 
Sends comfort ! Therefore, rise, depart. 
And be your tears forgot ! 



IVYWALL, 91 



(Bin '§i\\\)it f anJj, 

America ! tlie glory 

Of the Golden Age is thine : 

The nations gaze upon thee 
As a wonder and a sign. 

The Roman Eagle, victor 

On a thousand crimson plains — 

Thy Eagle hath outflown it, 
And thy victory remains ! 

It shall remain forever ! 

It shall be a kindling star, 
Which the Sages, still up-looking, 

Shall honor from afar ! 
Till its lustre in their bosoms 

Wake a thrilling sense of joy 
Which the Past hath never given, 

Nor the Future can destroy ! 

Thy victory is freedom ! 

And it was not won alone 
For the mighty, but the humble 

May the blessing also own. 
It is sweet as summer sunshine. 

It is liberal as air ; 
From Heaven it came, and fondly 

Doth it smile and whisper : ''There !" 



92 IVYWALL. 

In the time of doubt and peril, 

When the soul was sad and still 
In the dreaming of the coming 

Of a vague and awful ill, — 
Then the beauty and the glory 

And the blessedness were thine ! — 
And the nations gaze upon thee 

As a wonder and a sign ! 

By the sacred shades of Vernon, 

Where our Father's ashes rest; 
By the name to freedom dearest ! 

By our Wonder of the West ! 
Arise ! and swear, my brothers, 

That our native land shall be 
Still the hope of Earth's redemption, 

Still the happy and the free ! 

America ! the glory ♦ 

Of the Golden Age is thine : 

The nations gaze upon thee 
As a wonder and a sign ! 



IVYWALL. 93 



Life was dreaming, life was dreaming — smiling, dreaming, 

day and night ! 
Beautiful its visions ever, ever changing, ever bright. 
Like a placid river flowing — like the sacred river going 
Grladly through the Eden Land — all the graceful, all the 

grand, 
Mirrored in its buoyant bosom — all the angel-haunted land ! 

Life was dreaming, dreaming, dreaming : star-crowned 

forms of sweetest seeming 
Hovered round — their dark eyes beaming fairer still than 

starry light, 
While their white arms waving gently, while their fond 

lips' music tone, 
Still invited, still delighted, promised still a joy unknown. 
Saying : " Love and fame await thee, love and fame that 

shall create thee 
Pride and power beyond a monarch's nation-overshadowing 

throne — 
These are thine, and thine alone I" 

Life, 'twas thus thy early season passed in dreams — it 

wakes to reason, 
Knowing, now, those dreams were treason, treason to thy 

nobler charge : 



94 IVYWALL. 

Knowing, now, the Lord bestowetli life a loan ; thy spirit 

oweth 
Right return, which overfloweth — be the Glorious Will 

obeyed ! — 
Still and still it overfloiveth, blessing all thy Sovereign 

made ! 

Action ! action ! not for dreaming ! Learn the true intent 

of Life ! 
Rise ! the world is mad in battle ! on ! amid the fearful 

strife ! 
Brothers art thou now beholding ! — Banner of the Cross 

unfolding — 
Even the Banner which the Roman, marching to attack 

his foeman. 
Crouching low in trembling awe, in the blazing heavens 

saw — 
In hoc signo vmces ! Virtue, doubt thou not, shall conquer 

all: 
Rise ! with heart and hand assist her : then shall her op- 
pressors fall — 
Shrouded by their deeds of darkness, ever, ever, ever fall ! 



IVYWALL. 95 



Mas|:insit0n fossing tit '§Mnxt. 

(Leutze's Tainting.) 

Wonderful Art, whose bright Aurora finger 
Moves o'er the darkness of the ages past, 
Till from their cold, sepulchral regions vast 
Up-springs the light again ! And long-lost faces 
Appear, and live in old familiar places, 
And great events of many a pondered stoiy 
Return, and re-enact their world-inspiring glory ! 

Winter : all grey and ghastly comes the morning ! 

All desolate, obscure, and scarcely day ; 

The snow-cloud hovering o'er its feeble ray. 
Like an oppressor o'er the rise of freedom ! 

The ice, in anger clashing, 

Mass against mass ; but bravely still. 
Each look, each vein, breathing immortal will, 
There, in the rough-rocked boat, they toil, they go 
Safe through the drift confused : wary and slow, 
And silently, yet hopeful. Grazing out. 
Stands Washington ! If any heart feel doubt. 
Behold the Chief — behold the kindling eye — 
The " soul in arms !" — and read a grand reply ! 

Struggling amid the ice, boat follows boat ; 
An army moves — but no triumphal note 



96 IVY WALL. 

Of clarion soundetli : on the cliilly air 

No banners float ; 
One, only, rises there, 
Flapping about the staff, impatiently 

Contending with the breeze, 

As if old memories. 

Haunting its every fold, 
Awoke the joy wherewith it led the bold. 

Who shall be free ! 

And yet, though wanting all the pomp of war. 

To victory pass they on, 

Ere the perfected dawn. 
The tale hath History told — but words are weak. 
And may not with the pencil's eloquence speak, 
Whose rainbow language, bending down with thought, 
With truth and fancy, love and beauty fraught, 
Ascends the heavens, reposes on the land, 
Is ever graceful, and is ever grand I 



IVYWALL. 97 



When artists represent their dreams 

Of more than mortal grace, 
Though glory in the picture beams, 

Yet nought distinct we trace : 
A soft, a melting, waving line — 

A mass of shadowy hair — 
Large eyes, sweet eyes, that look divine — 

Dreamlike, the dream is there ! 

I think of thee; I know thee not; 

Perchance I ne'er may know : 
But thou art woman ; and thy lot, 

Or be it high or low. 
Yet is it noble, grand, sublime ; 

Its mission from above. 
To soothe the thousand ills of time, 

And bless the world with love ! 

So seemest thou, fair maiden, briaht 

With charms the angels own. 
That, like the breeze, like flowers, like light, 

Are joys wherever known ! 
A soft, a melting, waving line — 

A mass of shadowy hair — 
Large eyes, sweet eyes, that look divine — 

Dreamlike, the dream is there ! 
9 



98 IVYWALL. 



The Lord ! Whose sovereign Word, 
Amazed, old Chaos heard, 

And shrank away ! 
While world succeeding world 
Its wondrous charms unfurled. 
And hailed the Day ! 
To Him whose dwelling is Eternity, 
To Him, forever, let all glory be ! 

And thou, my startled Soul, 
What fearest thou ? Control 

Thy timid thought ! 
Is there not rapture here 
To smile away thy fear : 
Thy love is sought ! 
He, the Creator, stooping from above. 
Looks through the shining spheres, and asks "• thy love !" 

Let not the stories old, 
By priest and bigot told. 

Thy trust affright ! 
Forgive them, and forget : 
God is thy Father yet ! 
All shall be right ! 
Hell is a madman's dream, nor shall be found ; 
Fiends are the talk of fools ! The Lord is crowned ! 



^1 



IVYWALL. 99 

Creator I Monarch ! Friend ! 
Who shall with Him contend ! 

Whatever is, 
All that we know, and more 
Than mortal may explore, 
All — all are His ! 
Shall His own creatures then torment His own ? 
Shall they o'ermaster Him, and mount His awful throne? 

No scowling form of Wrath 
Shall haunt thy future path. 

For God is thine ! 
With Him shall love remain. 
To Him shall grief and pain 
Their power resign ; 
For they on Earth — in Heaven we yet may know — 
Were friends, though in the dark we thought not so ! 



Now from the lattice gazing on the day. 
The red and golden evening of the day, 

As darker blue becomes the faint-starred sky, 

As purple shades steal slowly o'er the ground, 
As, now and then, some weary step goes by — 
No other living form, no other sound : 



100 IVYWALL. 

Now from the lattice of my lonely room 
I look upon tlie day's half joy, half gloom, 
And scenes of long ago return to me, 
And sweet love-smiles I never more may see, 
And voices that were music once ; and truth. 
The angel in the Paradise of youth ! 

Rivers and mountains, even the ocean wild. 
The ocean, strange, and dark, and deep, and wild. 
Keep from me dearest hearts whose vows I heard, 

Whose vows I answered with an equal vow ; 
Memory alone repeats each sacred word. 

But not the same : it is with sorrow now. 
And fondest of them all was hers, whose voice — 
Hast thou not seen the mariner rejoice 
At " Land ! land, ho !" For thus her welcome tone 
Once charmed my spirit, when, the deep unknown, 
Compassed with storms, the stars I trusted, lost. 
My life from wave to wave was madly tossed ! 

She, too, is far away — I know not so — 
I see her not, and yet — I know not so : — 

Her home is Heaven ; but may she not look down ^ 

May not her glorious wings be folded here ? 
Is 't not her light that dissipates my frown, 

This cloud of wrong repining ? Why appear 
All things more cheerful to me now, more just, 
Waking within my heart a holy trust, 
Teaching that parting, even death, may be 
Most wise, most kind, as thus at once we see 
Two worlds to live for ! Hopefully in this, 
Yet with a longing for the world of bliss ! 



IVYWALL. 101 



'•' Back-wounding Calumny 

The fairest virtue strikes." 

Shakspeare. 

Tyrant and coward slave ! 
Rail on ! thou mayst not harm tlie good and brave ! 
As looks the sovereign mountain down, 
As smiles the rainbow o'er the tempest's frown, 
So looks and smiles the brave ! 
He stands secure, God's pyramid of Truth ! 

Scorning the rage of Time ! 
He smiles — an immortality of youth, 
Peace, joy, and love sublime. 
Is there ! 
Circling the world, illuming all the air ! 

When Freedom's fire descends upon the heart, 

The man no more is man ! 
He feels his sacred life is set apart : — 

He feels new hope, new power, 

And from that rapturous hour 
He dares do all — that tyrants fear he can ! 

What giveth grandeur to the mountain proud ? 
It is the envious, vain-aspiring cloud, 
That, stealing from the pestilential vale. 
Slow creepeth up — then, when its efforts fail 
J9* 



102 IVYWALL. 

To sliroud the dauntless peak, 
HoWj like a coward arrogant and weak, 

Dotli it descend in tears, 
Back to its darkened den, its sluggish, base compeers I 

What giveth beauty to the rainbow's form ? 
^Tis that it shineth 'mid the sullen storm ! 

Smiling as terrors cease, 

And prophesying peace ! 

Thou art the mountain tall, the rainbow thou I 

Herald of Freedom to the sad old World ! 
Shame shall attend whoe'er would cloud thy brow I 
Back on himself shall all his wrath be hurled ! 
Stand he among the great. 
Or sit in royal state, 
Beyond the sea — or here : — 
No, my blest Native Land ! thou art too dear, 
Too honored — even in a moment's dream 
That thus I think of thee : 
No son of thine so deeply damned may be ! 
I'll not believe it ! If, at last, there seem 
Such on our happy shore — 
Call the false phantom '■^ brother " never more ! 
Let him accursed be, wherever found ! 
Still let him live, still let him wander round 
The unfriending Earth, 
Weeping with tears of fire his day of birth ; 
Or, if he have companion — legends tell 
Of one to suit him well : 
Ahasuerus, wild with awful dread. 
Outcast, in search of calm — eternal clouds o'erhead I 



IVYWALL. 1 03 



Job Smith liad toiled from nine o'clock to three : 
There was no wearier Job in all the " States " than he I 
Figures he loved not, yet 'twas his to add, 
Till the long columns nearly drove him mad ! 
Up-rose he then, at last, and strode the floor. 

Once, twice, and thrice, to stretch his aching legs. 

Which done, from off the pegs. 
He took his hat and coat, and passed the office door. 

So awful were his features, 

The boys — poor little creatures ! — 
Amid their game of leap-frog stopped. 
And hoops forgot to roll, and marbles dropped. 
And mouths came open wide, and large wild eyes 
Grew larger, wilder, with a mute surprise. 

As thus Job spoke : 
" Once more ! 
Five hundred — forty — fifty — ninety-four, 

And eight What was it ? Ninety ? ninety r* What ? 

Over and over ! There ! another blot ! 
' Out, damned spot !' 

My knife ! my knife ! 
I cannot bear this worse than tread-mill life ! " 

All passers by with sadness saw his face. 
Women did pity him, and hasten on. 



104 IVYWALL. 

Doctors^ witli eager eyes, pronounced ^Hhe case" 

"Doubtful" — "a strange neglect" — and '^ nearly gone!" 

" And eiglit — What was it ? Ninety ? ninety ?" So, 
With long, unconscious strides, did Job right homeward go. 

Arrived, his little son ran forth to meet him. 
With chubby, dimpled arms spread wide to greet him, 
Exclaiming : " Pa, to-night ! 
The circus ! Aint it time to go ?" 

" Not quite ! 
What was it ?" 

" Circus, Pa !" 

'' The Circus— eight"— 
" No, Pa, it 's seven. You'd be an hour too late !" 

— " And ninety ? ninety what ? 
Five hundred — forty — fifty — ninety — blot !" 

That evening Job went not from home, but sat. 

Lost in reflection, like a sober cat, 

Some stormy night, before a farmer's fire. 

That nods her head — the flames mount high and higher — 

That nods her head so solemnly, but keeps 

Talking unto herself : think not she sleeps ! 

To bed at last goes Job — and silent all. 

So still you might have heard a needle fall : 

And thus the midnight hour — when Job's dear wife 

Was roused — she trembled for her very life ! 

With cap on head. 
There in the moonbeams Job sat up in bed ! 



IVYWALL. 105 

Open his eyes were, but with such a look, 

As if no sense of mortal things he took : 

Open his mouth was, but therefrom there came 

Sounds that were Hebrew to his awe-struck dame : 

" Five hundred — forty — fifty — ninetj-four ! 

And eight — Six hundred two I " He spake no more, 

But sank upon his couch, and soon began to snore ! 



Kiss me, sweet ! I will not tell ! 
Ah, I love thee quite too well 
To sit beside thee patiently — 
Ever so thou temptest me I 

Grive me, then, one little kiss. 
And I will give thee — what for this ? 
Richest gold could never pay it, 
Clearest gems would vain essay it : 
I, therefore, will return thee thine. 
And a thousand more of mine ! 



106 IVYWALL. 



" THE GOOD OLD TIMES — ALL TIMES WHEN OLD AEE GOOD !" 

'^ The Law allows it^ and the Court awards it I" 
80, every true and thoughtful man regards it 
Justice beyond compare ! 

Is reverence dead ? 
Are all our filial obligations fled ? 
Shall we prove false to fathers wise of old, 
So light their solemn meditations hold, 
As question now the law ? Dear Piety ! 
Forbid so foul a wrong should ever be ! 
Touch not the law ! It is a holy thing ! 
Of what proud blessings is it not the spring ! 
How sweet in spirit, how in moral grand ! 
How doth it save from crime our Christian land ! 

Out upon those who prate of prison gloom, 

Where murderous hearts should meet a life-long doom. 

Silent and terrible — a conscious death. 

Having no more of earth save only breath. 

And thought — thought — thought— eternal, restless thought: 

A cell by mortal friendship never sought; 

Yet one fond visiter admitted there. 

If summoned by the voice of contrite prayer ! 

Then if, some day, perchance — strange things may be. 

And are on record ! — proof should set him free, 



IVYWALL. 107 

Law may atone for wrong tlie law hatli done, 
And cloudless sink at last life's sacred sun ! 
Out upon those ! Be still, the foolish tongue I 
Be ours the crimson law from reason sprung ! 

Spirit of Innovation, blind and wrong, 

Yet in its madness is it wondrous strong, 

Grasping, as Sampson did, the pillars, so 

To crush in ruin all the throng below : 

But solemn men, inspired by truth, have risen, 

And forced the giant back again to prison. 

Have spoken from the Book — though some declare, 

In foolishness, no text of blood is there ! — 

And, armed with power that holds the world in awe, 

Have firmly fixed our consecrated law ! 

Alas, the present age ! alas, the zeal 

Once so exhaustless for the common weal ! 

Still, to this day, we should behold expire 

The Church-defying heretic in fire ! 

Still, to this day, the impious witch should burn. 

The water drown, the wheel of torture turn ! 

The blood-stained rack the quivering limbs should tear. 

While groans, and shrieks, and curses fill the air ! 

To prove how dear to man is virtue's claim ! 

To prove the glory of the Christian name ! 

Still, to this day, we should reward all crimes 

In the sweet fashion of the good old times ! 



108 IVYWALL. 



The World liatli men it doth not truly know ; 
The World doth often give the doom of foe 

Even to its fondest friend : 
Chains bind the arms, and cruel tortures rend 
The very heart-strings that were nerved to save 
Liberty, Virtue, from the yawning grave ! 
'Tis sad to read the story. 
Throughout all time, how Wrong hath murdered Grlory ! 

When, far away in fair Hungaria's land, 
Kossuth stood foremost of a small, brave band, 

For Freedom, Heaven-designed 
The first and still best gift to all mankind, 
Sweet was the oratory — yet received 
Only by few the flame ; 
While many, as they came. 
Went back, and muttered : ' We have not believed ! ' 
Then yet once more returned — repentant ? No ! 

Freedom's Apostle was a dangerous foe ! 
Bear him to prison ! And he bowed his head, 
His heart unbowed, 
And, silent, through the mocking crowd, 
Moved on, with pensive, melancholy tread. 

An angel came unto him ! What is love 
Less than a starry spirit from above ? 



IVYWALL. 109 

The smile of Woman cheered his prison cell ; 

The voice of Woman whispered : ' Hope ! 'Tis well I ' 

It was ! The hero's soul grew daily stronger ! 

The time of darkness gave him nobler light ! 
Whatever dread the past had known — no longer 

Dared now oppose his might ! 

It was ! He left the massive walls of gloom, 

For woman's palace-hearty 

Bright home, outrivalling the sculptor's art, 
All beauty — bliss — and breathing Eden bloom ! 

'Twas well ! He fought his Nation's claim : 
Freedom was proud to see her flag unfurled ! 

He fought — and though he lost his patriot aim — 
He won the World ! 



Life shall fade away, but I, 
Smiling still, see shadows fly ! 

Answers Life : My smile shall be, 
When sun nor shade exist for thee ! 



10 



110 IVY WALL 



|0i|S at l\t C^ttitge. 

Yes, boast of your splendor ! Not for me 
The pomp, the pain of the palace be ! 
Dearer by far is the lowly roof ! 

Sweeter by far is my simple life ! 
From the home of my heart keep all aloof 

Fashion, and pride, and their train of strife I 
At my garden-gate they may stand and sneer, 
But they come not in — it is sacred here ! 

Sacred it is to peace and to love ! 
Sealed with the seal of GrOD above ! 
Whisper a blessing the beautiful trees I 

Ever a blessing exhales from the flowers ! 
Blessing is breathed by the birds and the breeze ! 

By the sun, and the moon, and the rainbow showers ! 
And the souls that inhabit my Eden of home 
With a blessing look up to the world-lighted dome ! 

' Is it summer forever ? ' a voice replies. 
Yes, for the summer within us lies — 
Happy within us : and storms may blow. 

Striking the boughs of the icicled oak, 
Rattling its treasure of gems on the snow. 

And shouting the louder the fiercer the stroke : 
The clouds and the cold that take blessings away, 
Give others, give brighter and better than they ! 



IVYWALL. Ill 

Let fall the large curtains, and gather around : 
Now hath the storm but a musical sound ! 
Cheerily sparkles the joy-giving fire ! 

The lamp throws its lustre on paintings and books. 
Winter — where is it ? Its rigors retire, 

And summer, soft-breathing, how peaceful it looks ! 
Thus should a home be ! And thus being, is it 
A Paradise angels of Heaven might visit ! 



0U^gl0kr. 



Job Moneylover went to sea. 

Tempted by a speculation. 
A storm arose, and momently 

Was death in expectation : 
And '' 0, my gold V not " life,'' cried he. 

Gathering up his coins in haste — 

The big waves leaping all around him — 

He girdled them about his waist, 

Went over, and his treasure drowned him, 

Eagerly by the sea embraced. 

O, sea ! thou takest to thy breast 

One whom the land would never cherish ; 

Yet, tossed and tossed, he shall not rest. 
And though he die, he shall not perish — 

Thy golden-girdled grinning guest ! 



112 IVYWALL. 

Through all thy caverns green and dark 
Thou 'It bear his skeleton of terror, 

Bidding thy myriad monsters mark 
The master-work of human error : 
'^ Ha ! ha \" shall laugh the ravenous shark ! 

Still, upon his native shore, 

A monument to Moneylover 
Says : " He visited the poor" — 

Yes, severely ; they '11 recover 
From his visitings no more. 

Says : " As husband, father, friend, 
Now on earth not one is like him ! " 

So, thank Heaven ! and there an end. 
Being down, we will not strike him. 

But let his quarreling heirs defend. 



Arabian. 
I. 

In Eden grew 
Trees whose fruit was gold. 
Trees that silver bore. 
And others precious stones. 
Beneath their beautiful boughs 



IVYWALL. 113 

First wliispered Sin to man. 
So, from the view of Heaven, 
From sunsliine, moon, and stars, 

These trees are banished, 

And buried deep, deep 
In the fiery caves of earth. 

Beware thou seek them not ! 



II. 



The health-restoring plants 
Sprang from the bitter tears of penitence 
By Adam wept upon the accursed earth, 

Through him accursed. 
During his first sad century of exile. 

The lovely, fragrant flowers. 

The aromatic shrubs, 
Sprang from the tears of gratitude 

By Eve and Adam shed, 
During their second century of exile. 

Finding their prayers were heard, 

Their sorrowing vows accepted. 



114 IVYWALL. 



m\t M'&xtt. 



Listen to the story old, 

Still, wliere Hudson's waters glide, 
Tearfully, in whispers told. 

How a maiden loved and died. 
The rosebud that adorned her breast, 
Her fairer, softer charms confessed ; 
And kind as beautiful was she. 
The loved and loving Jane M'Cree ! 

So fair and fond, so young and gay, 

The absent soldier's promised bride ! 
Alas ! the dark and woful day ! 
Alas ! the death she died ! 

Far amid the forest lone. 

With her silent Indian guides, 
Trustfully, the girl hath gone : — 

0, her heart is like a bride's ! 
The path is wild, but still above 
Brightly beams the sky with love ! 
What happy meeting soon shall be I 
Thy lover listens, Jane M'Cree ! 



On, and on, through all the day, 
Down the vale, and o'er the height 

On, and on, a weary way. 

Resting by the j&re at night — 



IVYWALL. 115 

On, and on : — but words of wrath, 
Serpent-like, surprise the path ! 
Now, the quivering dagger see ! — 
Ah I the lovely Jane M'Cree ! 

The soldier heard the tale of woe — 

Heard as if he did not hear : 
Agony may never know 

E'en the solace of a tear ! 
He sought the sad and fatal ground ; 
He gazed upon the maiden's mound ; 
He called : " I come, my love, to thee ! 
The world is dark for Jane M'Cree !" 

So fair and fond, so young and gay, 

The soldier and his promised bride ! 
Alas ! the woful, woful day ! 
They slumber side by side ! 



<£'Axt\'s fast linpl 

Woman is earth's last angel ! Eden still 
With glory shines about her : — 

The De'il could only work his perfect ill 
By leaving man without her ! 



116 IVYWALL. 



ap (S^fitiKp. 



When dreams of love first came to me, 

They pictured some secluded shade, 
Where vines, and flowers, and birds should be j 

And all the noisy world's parade 
A thrilling story told : 
A story strangely grand, but vain. 

Remembered less and less. 
While purer pride and pleasure reign. 

And day and night by turns impress 
Wise teachings manifold. 

And now within my cottage home. 

The same I dreamed in early years, 
I rest me, nor would further roam 

Along the crowded path of tears — 
The path that leads to death : 
For only here may life be found ; 

'Tis smiling in the gentle flowers — 
The birds are singing it around — 

'Tis glancing in the sunny showers — 
And all hath blessed breath ! 

With her I love, to sit and read — 
With her I love, to calmly talk ; 



IVYWALL. 11' 

Or, when the golden clouds succeed 
The sultry, breathless noon, to walk 
Beneath the quivering trees, 
Silent awhile, or speaking now. 

While hand is fondly clasping hand. 
Until the stars come out, and Thou, 
God of the promised Eden land. 
Art whispering in the breeze I 

The stars are thick ; I see the dew 

Like diamonds on the drooping grass : 

The lamp will yet the day renew ; — 
And slow the winding way we pass, 

Where friends and song invite, 
Or books, or prints of distant shore, 

Old castles, abbeys, pleasing scenes 
Which all the ancient time restore, 

As fancy o'er the picture leans. 
With eyes of fairy light ! 

And still the dearest theme of all 

Is Home — there is no other word 
Which can, as by enchantment, call 

Around us flower, and breeze, and bird, 
And love, the soul of bliss ! 
O, sweetest word of mortal speech ! 

O, worthy of an angel tongue ! 
Indeed dost thou to true-love teach 

A beauty never, never sung — 
A Home so dear as this ! 



118 IVY WALL. 



"WRITTEN AT THE FALLS, AUGUST 14tH, 1855, 

Niagara ! My dream of many years — 
This moment's living glory ! 

In my dream, 
A beauty and a majesty, too fair, 
Too grand, for music, poetry, or pencil : 
Yet in reality ! — 

Why now attempt 
The vast impossible ! 

I may describe 
Thy height, thy depth ; measure thy rocky walls ; 
Speak of thy snowy foam ; thy steam-like spray ; 
The rainbow, spanning with its heaven-born grace 
Thy multitudinous waters, white and emerald ; 
Then may I turn unto thy varied shore, 
Pile rocks on rocks, and crowd the tangled trees } 
Here scatter flowers ; and there the soft grass spread j 
And fill the islands with enchanting sounds 
Of birds, and winds, and waves : but all in vain I 
'Tis not Niagara; or ^tis alone 
To those who have beheld, as I behold; 
Those in whose minds the mighty memory lingers, 
That memory that must remain forever i 



IVYWALL. 119 

Thou hast not seen the Wonderful ? 

For thee 
Man can do little. Do not trust his pen, 
Nor trust his pencil more. These are but outlines, 
Feeble, unmeaning — save when thou hast seen ! 
Like stenographic characters, they give 
Thoughts to him only who is in the secret. 

Niagara ! with ever new delight. 

Day after day, I gaze upon thy grandeur. 

My soul is captive to thy god-like power, 

And so all-sweet is such captivity. 

That I would have the world thus bound with me \ 

Therefore, the pen and pencil, each in turn, 
I grasp, to show the world thy majesty, 
But, disappointed, soon resign them both. 
And look, and listen, and am lost in God ! 

These words are merely spray-drops from the Falls, 
Yet if, descending on old memories. 
They serve to keep them green, and cheer the hope 
In other hearts, till it shall grow, and bear 
Keality's rich fruit — I am content. 

Each for himself must see. Niagara 

Will do the rest : Filling thy soul with beauty, 

Love, adoration ! 

Lo ! it springs from Heaven 
Down to the tortured depths ! To Heaven again 
Up-springs the thin and scattering cloud of mist, 



120 IVYWALL. 

Where tlie soft rainbow part reveals itself; 

While myriad voices, shouts, and shrieks, and thunderings, 

The tramp of armies 

The clash of arms, the rush of maddened steeds, 

The trumpet call, the cry of victory, 

Loud lamentation — strangely all unite — 

As all Earth's discords shall be music yet ! — 

With organ-like expression of high thoughts, 

Proclaiming : God ! Most wonderful ! Most wonderful I 

God of Niagara ! and God of Love ! 



€dhp S>tnt. 



The last few flowers are fading fast, 
That round my Cottage smiled, 

T hear November's moaning blast. 
The clouds are dark and wild. 

The trees, the music-making trees, 
That soothed my grassy rest. 

When nature's dreamy harmonies 
Stole, hallowing, o'er my breast : 

I see them from the lattice now. 
But few the leaves they bear. 

Still clinging to the cheerless bough. 
Like Love to lone Despair. 

Farewell the garden's winding ways ! 
Its perfume-breathing bowers ! 



IVY WALL. 121 

The beautiful, glad summer days ! 
The pensive moonlit hours ! 

Let fall the curtain. Sad the night, 

But here is gloom forgot ! 
Blow on, ye winds ! — my hearth is bright ! 
.Blow on ! I fear ye not ! 

For books are mine, and friends are mine, 

And dear they be, though few ; 
And round my pleasant parlor shine 

Fair scenes I love to view. 

Fair scenes that dread no wintry wind, 
Fond friends, from youth-time tried, 

And grand old books, wherein I find 
Whate'er is good beside : — 

Save love — Thou smilest, Maye ! I' look 

For love, to thee alone ; 
Thy heart is yet my favorite book, 

Where joy is ever known ! 

What care I now, though sad the hour ? 

Its gloom is here forgot ! 
Blow on, ye winds ! exert your power I 

Blow on ! I fear ye not ! 

And thus, when life is fading fast. 

And lowers the chilly night — 
Be dark the clouds ! and moan the blast ! 

If all within be bright ! 
11 



122 IVYWALL. 



^TwAS morn in Bethany, a summer morn, 
And all its towers, and odoriferous groves, 
Beamed in the golden sun. A sound of harps. 
With intermingled voice of joyous song, 
Came sweetly forth from many a noble hall. 
Even the weary slave was glad awhile, 
Feeling upon his heart the cheerful light, 
That imaged peace and dreams of other days ! 

Alas ! the loveliness, and mirth, and pride 
Of morn's enchanting hour, were mockery 
To those who stood in silent sorrowing, 
And thought of him — the loved — the early lost ! 

Mary was pale, and yet most beautiful, 
Though grief had stolen many charms away. 
Her dark, full eyes were dim and heavy now; 
And fled the vermil tint, and circling form. 
That gave her lip the grace of virgin youth. 

Gay flowers no more adorned 
Her ebon-braided hair, but now it fell 
In wild confusion down her snowy neck. 
And Martha's azure eyes were tearful, too, 
Like violets in the rain. Her auburn tresses 
Half loosened waved around her heaving breast. 



IVYWALL. 123 

Well may the sisters weep, and stand apart, 
And disregard the sympathy of friends. 
The joyous light, the silver strain of harps, 
And art's magnificence, and nature's pride, 
Since Lazarus is dead — their brother dead ! 
0, he was kind and excellent of soul. 
And lived in beauty, as the graceful palm. 
Shading the arid sands, a shelter still. 
And still a hope, where all beside is fear. 

At last the Saviour's near approach was known ; 

And Martha went to meet him; and anon 

Mary arrived, and falling at his feet. 

She cried, in all the bitterness of woe : 

" Hadst Thou been here, my brother had not died !" 

Tears from her eyes fell fast. The Jews, who thronged 
With friendship round the maid, though brave and stern. 
And often tried in scenes of misery, 
Gave answering tears of sorrow : — 

^^ Jesus wept!" 

It was a lone and rugged cave, wherein 
The form of Lazarus in death reposed. 
And o'er it waved a gloomy cypress tree. 
And only tone of rustling leaves, and sweet 
Funereal hymn of birds, were whispered there. 
Even the flowers that bloomed above the grave. 
With seeming consciousness of melancholy, 
Looked down. 

'■^ Take ye away the stone !" 

^Twas done. 



124 IVYAVALL. 

And Jesus raised Ms eyes to Heaven, communing, 
By few and simple words of love and praise, 
With GrOD the Father ; then he cried aloud : 
^^ Lazarus, come forth I" 

And instantly he came ! 

No dream ! no dream ! he breathes — he moves — he lives ! 

And swift returns the roseal cheek of health, 

And smile of tenderness, and early joy ! 

And bound the sisters to embrace their brother, 

And kiss a welcome to the world again ! 



%\t ""ititUu. 



Blooming like the virgin Spring; 
Lips to smile, to kiss, and sing; 
Eyes that softly, brightly roll. 
Full of ecstacy of soul ; 
Cheeks where timid roses grow, 
Stealing up through moon-lit snow ; 
Ringlets falling carelessly. 
Dark as stormy night may be. 

Forward, with a simple grace. 
Bends the love-creating face, 
Eagerly, as if to hear 
Music of a distant sphere. 



IVYWALL. 125 



Blissful, high, immortal tone, 
Only to the chosen known ', 
Anxiously, as if to find 
Angels in the Realm of Mind, 
Gentle, bountiful, and bright, 
Seen by inspiration's light ! 

Thus from mysteries above 
Shall be woven songs of love, 
Themes of gratitude and praise, 
Which the lowly one shall raise. 
Whisper peace, and teach the heart, 
'Tis of GrOD and Heaven a part, 
Till the pilgrim, Man, shall go 
Singing through the Vale of Woe ! 



FROM THE FRENCH. AUTHOR UNKNOWN. 

That pain is still a part of life, we know. 
Whatever sea or land we wander o'er, 

But only feel the true and deepest woe 

When suffering, distant from our native shore ! 

And if, in silent night, a gentle sleep 

The beautiful and cherished scene restore, 
11* 



126 IVYWALL. 

The Captive's spirit only wakes to weep 
The vanished pleasures of his native shore ! 

When Fancy calls to life futurity, 

Ah, then he feels the present fate no more, 

Till clanking chains excite a memory, 

That sad, sweet memory, his native shore ! 

If kindly words like sudden sunshine fall. 

And light the gloom that never smiled before. 

His happy heart forgets the weary thrall — 
But — ^he is distant from his native shore ! 



®|e »roOT's fast Mffrts.* 

The aged Chief, amid the city's pride. 

Weary and faint, with slow-consuming pain. 

Now for his forest home and kindred sighed. 
For only one fond look, one word — in vain ! 

He felt the pitiless approach of death. 

And feebly called his grieving brothers near. 

And spoke with solemn tone of failing breath, 
While o'er his lowly couch they bent to hear : 

* PusH-MA-TA-HA. He died at Washington, D. C, and was buried in the Con- 
gress Cemetery, where a monument has been erected to his memory. 



IVYWALL. 127 

" I now shall die, but you will journey back 

To join our friends, the wliisjDeriug prairies o'er, 
And flowers will bloom along tlie winding track, 
And birds will sing — for me, alas, no more ! 

" At last ye see your lodges' wreathing smoke, 

Ye come — 'tis told — they gaze upon the ground ; 
'T is like the fall of some majestic oak, 

When silence reigns in all the woods around ! " 



^Im0$t |0nu. 



I am almost home ! I hear the bells ! 
What happiness their music tells ! 
What smiles and tones of long ago 
Fill my heart, till its joys o'erflow ! 

I am almost home ! I see the tower ! 
And near it lies my own dear bower I 
They are gazing far, they fondly wait, 
E'en now, I know, at the garden gate ! 

I am almost home ! But who is this ? 

If it must be so, I will grant a kiss ! 

" One more ?" How strange these lovers be, 

Asking one, and taking three ! 



128 IVY WALL. 



tt0a» 



An erroneous idea generally prevails in regai'd to the poetical character of our 
aborigines. According to the fashionable novels and poems, one of these senti- 
mental savages — 

" cannot ope 
His mouth, but out there flies a trope." 

The following is a translation from a genuine Indian love song. 

Ottoa 'mid the prairie flowers, 

How beautiful the sight ! 
More handsome than a wampum belt, 

And more than scarlet bright ! 
I '11 put my best blue leggings on, 

And chase the charming maid, 
And she will run away from me. 

As if she were afraid ! 

Ottoa ! Ottoa ! the laughing prairie flower ! 
Ottoa ! Ottoa ! I seek thee for my bower ! 

But now she turns her head around, 

To mock, and laugh, and rail, 
And well I see 't is all pretence. 

And Love will soon prevail ! 
The pretty witclieannas thus 

The hearts of men beguile, 
And if they frown and run away, 

They stop again, and smile ! 

Ottoa ! Ottoa ! the laughing prairie flower ! 
Ottoa ! Ottoa ! I seek thee for my bower ! 



IVYWALL. 129 



Shall beauty be my theme of praise, 

When verse aspires to honor thee ? 
Ah nOj for even as we gaze 

May beauty fade^ and cease to be. 
The loveliness whereon I look 

Shall not detain my soaring song ; 
Though fair the cover of a book, 

Within should praise or blame belong. 
And I have read thy mind aright, 

And pleasure found in every page, 
Anticipating new delight 

E'en to the winter- time of age : — 
The winter-time ? Thy spirit's smile 
Will make a summer all the while ! 



130 IVYWALL. 



Dost thou remember when the nis^ht was late — 

I must, in sooth, correct my truant line, 
For night no more, but morn, did dominate, 

Though still the moon and stars did feebly shine 
Dost thou remember, near the rustling bower. 

When, silent now, and now conversing low. 
Embracing, we reclined, and felt the power, 

The trust, the bliss, that youth and love bestow ! 
The world did seem a Paradise, in which 

Nor thought of fear, nor ill would dare intrude ; 
And we in all its ecstacies were rich. 

In sacred love, and pensive solitude ! 
The morn grew brighter, then 't was grief to part : 
Fly swiftly, Time ! and bind us heart to heart ! 



IVYWALL. 131 



A dweller of tlie Desert, 

A maiden wild and swift, 

A laugWng girl, and beautiful ! 

Her tent was by the well, 
Beneath the shading palm ; 
An hour — it is not there, 
But on the arid waste, 
The wilderness of sand. 
The hot and shining sand. 

Far, far away ! 
The unbroken plain around, 
The unclouded sky above ! 

Upon a living throne, 
A strange and lofty throne. 
Swift as the wind she rode 
Across the silent Desert ! 

Grandly the camel bore her : 
Its long, ungainly neck 
Extended, and its legs. 
Its lank and sinewy legs. 
Striding the conquered distance ! 



132 IVYWALL. 

Even on the dewless sands, 
Beneath the burning sun ; 
Even where no grass can grow — 
The rose of love is blooming ! 
The pitying angels see, 
And sprinkle it with tears ; 
Their clasped hands, in prayer, 
Avert the Day-Grod's wrath, 
x\.nd shield it from his sight — 
The delicate rose of love, 
The rose that must not die ! 

Far from her father's tent — 
Her guide the wreathing smoke : 
A tall and widening column. 
Whose capital was heaven : 
Grandly the camel bore her. 
Forward she bent, and gazed ! 
Patient, awhile, lone Arab youth ! 
Straight to thy heart she comes ! 

The sun is blotted out — 
And the air is hot with death : 
The terrible Simoon ! 

Not by the signal column. 

Not on the wreck-strewn sand, 

Not where the kiss of love may dread 

The storm of hatred more — 

And yet the lovers meet ! 



IVYWALL. 133 



Bum 0f §attle* 

'TwAS in my summer dreaming, 
Cool shaded ^neath a tree, 

That all this wondrous seeming 
Came visiter to me. 

I saw two armies meeting, 

Their broad, bright banners float 
Glad echo soft repeating 

Proud music's thrilling note ! 

And, crimson day declining, 
How all-enchanting fair, 

Sword, spear, and helmet shining. 
With plumes wide waving there ! 

A pageant vast and splendid. 
Like some romantic dream ! 

As if from Heaven descended 
The Gods, in glory's beam I 

^^ ^^* ^^ ^^ 

I looked, and lo ! a solemn, 
Dread change came over all ; 
12 



134 IVYWALL. 

For now, tlarougli every column, 
Each banner was a pall ! 

Each banner, black and stooping, 
Sword, helmet, spear, and plume 1 

Thus marched they, slow and drooping, 
Like mourners to a tomb ! 

The music ceased its cheering, 

Inebriating strain, 
While loftily careering, 

And sounded not again I 

As clouds, the tempest over, 

When spent their lightning wrath, 

Move feebly back, and hover, 
Confused, along their path : 

Thus, gloomily and broken, 

Retiring ere they met, 
The armies : and, a token 

Of peace, the fair sun set. 

'Twas in my summer dreaming, 

Cool shaded 'neath a tree. 
That all this wondrous seeming 

Came visiter to me. 

Yet thought I after : Truly, 

If battle's glittering show 
Were reft away, and duly 

Replaced by garb of woe : i 

i 



IVYWALL. 135 



If music ceased its magic, ' 
Fierce maddening every breast, 

Then history were less tragic. 
The dove were then our crest ! 

'Twas in my summer dreaming, 
Cool shaded 'neath a tree, 

That all this wondrous seeming 
Came visiter to me. 



There was a poor youth, with a very girlish look, 

And yet was it sad to see, 
For he read so much in an old, old book, 
And strange, wild thoughts had he ! 

Away with the book and the pen ! 
And out with the crowds of men ! 
You wear away your body and soul. 
And what 's your reward, Boy, then ? 

He looked on the World with his large, dark eyes; 

They rolled with a sovereign pride : 
Then was he humble, and then came sighs ; 

But not with a word he replied. 

Away with the book and the pen ! 



136 IVYWALL. 

Yet he was not always, always sad : 

In the golden summer days, 
Alone in the fields, would a flower make him glad, 

Or the wild bird's sweet, shrill lays ! 

Away with the book and the pen ! 

In the green, soft shade, by the willowy stream, 

Would he write his music-thought. 
Till, through the clouds, his happy dream 

The wings of angels caught ! 

Away with the book and the pen ! 

They found him sleeping 'mid the flowers, 

A smile on his pale, cold face ; 
But his soul, in a fairer Land than ours, 

No mortal eye may trace ! 

xiway with the book and the pen ! 

He had walked the earth : they knew him not : 

He went to the angel shore : 
Yet never here shall his name be forgot. 
And his loving, blissful lore ! 

For the book and the sacred pen. 
They have made him dear to men ; 
And beauty and truth now off'er the woi'ld 
The joy that he dreamed of then ! 



IVYWALL. 137 



%\t §trlr at \\i |dnt. 



"Tlie captain of the Norvrcgian barque Ellen states that when he was twenty 
miles distant from the Central America, a bird appeared on his vessel, and three 
times flew in his fiice, which caused him to change his course two points, and 
thus he came to the ill-fated steamer." — Incidents of the wreck of the Central 
America. 

A bird came out on the stormy sea ; 

I stood at tlie lielm — it came to me ; 

Thrice it flew in my face, and then 

Flew away in the storm again. 

What did the bird of the stormy sea — 
What did the bird portend to me ? 

I stood at the helm — the strange bird crost — 

It struck me, and two points I lost; 

In her new course my bark must go, 

For the strange, strange bird would have it so ! 
What did the bird of the stormy sea, 
The spirit bird, portend to me ? 

Over the deep was darkest night, 

Blackness all — then awful light — 

Rush of waves and thunder roll : 

I stood in the storm and said to my soul : 

What did the bird of the shrieking sea. 
The ghost-like bird, portend to me ! 

12* 



188 IVYWALL. 

Norway's rocks are bleak and bare ) 

But if no more I rest me there ! 

And if no more — My soul leaped up 

And daslied in the night my sorrow's cup : — - 
Lo ! what the bird of the stormy sea, 
The Heaven-sent bird, portends to thee. 

O God ! that moment, before my bark, 
Tossed on the billows deep and dark, 
Hundreds, hundreds of dying men ! — 
Let me not see such sight again ! 

This, bird of the stormy sea. 
This didst thou portend to me ! 

*^t^ ^A^ >]' «^ ^^ 

^jS ^> 'T* 'T* *T* 

Yet, by Him who sent thee, bird. 
Shall ever the praise of my soul be heard, 
That many were saved who, but for thee, 
Had gone to the grave of the secret sea. 

For this, dear bird of the ravenous sea, 
I thank thy Guide, who guided me ! 

And the Dove, that still in life's unrest. 
He sends with peace from His loving breast, 
May it find us, whithersoe'er we roam. 
And singing of Heaven, conduct us home ! 
Bird of the Blest, life's stormy sea, 
From its deep despair, calls up to thee. 



IVYWALL- 139 



In a far-off verdant valley, 

Savage mountains round it, 
By a Grreat Salt Lake, a City, 

Strangely built, and strangely peopled, 
Like a Christian City steepled, 
Rises. — Who lias found it ? 

To the Red Tribes is it known. 

To the tribes of lance and bow, 
To the fleet deer is it known, 

And the headlong bufialo : 
These have looked upon it, passing, 

These have seen with wondering eyes 
Then away among the mountains, 
Through the forest, o'er the prairies. 

Swept with their surprise ! 

In the wilderness, a City : 

Yet the world, with love or pity. 

All the world has heard its name : 
Some have heard it, and received it, 
As a sacred thing believed it. 
And, with pilgrim-like devotion, 

Day and night, and day and night, 
O'er the hills and vales of ocean. 

Journeyed to the Latter Light 



^? 



140 IVYWALL, 

Others, wlien they heard the story, 
•Saw the tinsel of the glory, 
Saw the strange deceit, the madness, 
Saw the end that was not yet. 



All the while the City numbered, 

Day by day, its pilgrims more ; 
All who came within it slumbered. 
By a wondrous magic cumbered. 

Dreaming dreams of Earth-Heaven o'er. 
Unto them came God in dreams. 

Angels, prophets, came to them. 
With a promise — -thus it seems — 

Of the whole world's diadem ! 
All should yet be theirs : each nation 

'Neath their hot hands melt like snow ', 
But with them was true salvation ; 

They the triumph-trump should blow. 

Women heard them — to their wiles 
G ave the witchery of their smiles. 

Hearts and hands on them bestowing, 
For 't was thus, and thus alone. 
Should the heavenly bliss be known, 
And gained the universal throne — 

Such the revelation's showing. 

Now it was the reign of lust. 
And the reign of law was done : 

' Why should G od's own falchion rust ? 
Draw the steel, and all is won !' 



IVYWALL. 141 



'Treason!' on Pacific's shore, 
' Treason !' by Atlantic tide, 

Rose, and met. And rose and met 
Men with souls of hero pride. 
Men in truth's great battle tried, 

O'er whose memories the past 

A halo-light of glory cast, 
Promising new glory yet. 

In the far-off Mormon valley, 

Solitude claimed every home ; 
Those who dwelt therein departed, 
Broken-hearted — broken-hearted — 
Whither shall they roam ? 

Like an exhalation. Error 

Flames along the startled sky ; 

Look, but do not look in terror — 
'Tis decreed to flash and die. 



f 0l)^ S0ng, 

Reclining on the grassy ground. 
With checkered shade of trees around. 
And song of birds, and bloom of flowers, 
I dream away the golden hours. 
And think of all that 's dear to me. 
Of youth and beauty, love and thee ! 



142 IVYWALL. 

And thus my thouglits in music flow. 
With tones of pleasure, soft and low ; 
They rise at first from nature's pride, 
But soon to sweeter themes they glide, 
And dwell content where Love displays 
Thy youthful charms, thy winning ways ! 

And still a dearer joy for me 
Hath nature blent with thoughts of thee, 
As Eden's bliss was only crowned 
When Eve's angelic smile was found ; 
And heart and eyes, once cold and blind, 
Now warmly welcome all mankind ] 



The wind is sighing, 
The snow deep lying, 
With crisp ice covered, 

On the frozen ground, 

No sky appearing, 
No sunbeam cheering, 
But pale clouds rolling, 
Rolling round. 



IVYWALL. 

Tlie tall trees stiver, 
By the creaking river, 
Where oft the icicles 
Shrilly fall, 

From cliffs o'erbending, 
From boughs descending, 
With snow full-laden, 
Leafless all. 

'T is gloomier growing ; 
The wind is blowing 
Stronger, louder, 

Through the night. 

A blank of sadness : 
Yet, for gladness 
Seeks my spirit — 

Lo! 'tis light! 

The fire is burning. 
The taper turning 
The fearful darkness 
Back to day. 

Books surround me ; 
Joy hath found me ; 
Drear December 

Steals away. 



143 



144 IVY WALL. 



•' Where should this music be ? i' the air, the earth ? " 

Tempest. 

Where'er in foreign clime 

We sadly stray 
A gentle spirit glides 
Across our way, 
And softly whispers : ' Cease, cease to roam ! 
LoTe calls tliee tliroiigh her tears : Come Home ! Come 
Home ! ' 

There is a voice that dwells 

In every breeze, 
In mossy sylvan cells, 

And trembling trees, 
A voice forever heard, where'er we roam. 
With Ariel's music charm ; ' Come Home ! Come Home !' 

' Come Home ! Thy lonely friends 
In silence see 
The old familiar haunts, 
So dear to thee 
When happy youth had never dreamed to roam 
From Love's bright Paradise : Come Home ! Come Home !' 



IVYTVALL. 145 

When life's last lingering ray 

Begins to fade, 
Not desolate shall be 

The gathering shade ; 
Then sweet from Heaven the voice : ' No longer roam ; 
Come to the Home of Bliss ! Come Home ! Come Home ! ' 



A Poet's Soul hath sovereignty 

O'er every Soul of Earth, 
Hath still the noblest destiny, 

By GoD-appointed birth. 
And worldly rank to it shall be 

Of unconsidered worth ; 
For Heaven hath crowned it lord of all, 
And throned it, that it may not fall ! 

A Poet's Soul the angels teach. 

With glad immortal lyre. 
Endow it with divinest speech. 

And ever-living fire : 
A voice that every heart shall reach, 

A flame that shall inspire. 
Till all who prove the voice and flame, 
Shall worship Him from whom they came ! 

13 



146 IVYWALL. 



" THE TIME THAT TRIED MEN'S SOLES." 

It was at ancient Bladensbiirg, 

The weather wondrous hot ; 
And motionless the tall corn stood, 

In every garden lot : 
And in the shade, supinely laid, 

Cats, dogs, and pigs were seen ; 
And geese went sailing on the brook. 

Where drooped the willows green : 

Went sailing forth as pleasantly 

As nothing were the matter ! 
Each praising her reflected charms, 

In most delightful clatter. 
They little thought the hour was fraught 

With direful charge of ill, 
That fast the angry Red-Coats came, 

Both sreese and men to kill ! 



to" 



Sad sight to see as e'er could be. 

The white-washed village Inn, 
With none to smoke, and none to joke. 

And none to sit and grin ! 
Now on the counter of the bar 

Half-emptied Was the can ; 
The whiskey-tap neglected stood ; 

To waste the liquor ran ! 



IVYWALL. 147 

For fat and jolly John, the host, 

Had ta'en his rusty gun, 
And so had Sam, the stable-boy, 

And every mother's son ; 
And out they went, with brave intent, 

To meet the coming foe, 
To strike for ancient Bladensburg, 

And lay the tyrant low ! 

Still, sometimes here would child appear, 

Sage matron, buxom maid. 
Crossing in haste the sandy street. 

Or whispering, sore afraid ; 
And busily preparing all 

To leave the luckless village, 
Their corn and pigs, their ducks and geese. 

To fire, and sword, and pillage ! 

x\nd up the bold militia marched. 

From town and country round ; 
The mighty men of Washington 

Came also to the ground : 
For higher prize allured the eyes 

Of England's martial host. 
Than Bladensburg, with all its wealth 

And old renown, could boast ! 

" The Capital ! The Capital ! " 

Was still the foeman's cry. 
Who for his Nation's Capital 

Would not with pleasure die ? 
And so they swore to fall, before 

The foeman should prevail, 



148 IVYWALL. 

And pile the field with Britishers, 
Beneath their hissing hail ! 

Hence, hither, too, our Regulars 

Assembled for the fight; 
And gay-plumed Volunteers — 0, Mars ! 

A grand, terrific sight ! 
And on his steed, to do or bleed. 

Our President was here : 
And every man did shout ^^ Hurra!" 

And not a soul did fear ! 

A cloud of dust flew down the street — 

A horse and rider in it : — 
'Twas rather warm to run a race, 

But surely he would win it ! 
Cats, pigs did leap from out their sleep, 

And dogs did bark amain. 
And children cried, and women screamed, 

And geese confessed their pain ! 

But on the furious horseman rushed, 

A soldier, minus hat; 
The streams of heat abundant gushed — 

He did n't stop for that ! 
" They 're coming ! " was his only word, 

Hoarse, choked with dust: 'they're coming!" 
And on he passed to where, right fast. 

Was heard a distant drummino;. 



'»• 



He gained the Yankee lines, and shrieked 
" They 're coming ! " — as he fell ! 



IVYWALL. 149 

They took him up, with instant care, 

And begged him further tell — 
But vainly : though with brandy plied, 

No other word he spoke 
Save " Coming ! Coming ! " — while the drumming 

Loud and louder woke ! 

At length, along the turnpike-road, 

The Red-Coats came, indeed : 
They reached the little bridge, but there 

We checked their daring speed. 
Whene'er they tried, we swept aside 

Their ranks with cannon-ball : — 
Till pity spread throughout our troops, 

To see so many fall ! 

Tn mercy, we resolved to run, 

Yet were we not afraid ; 
And lest our noble action should 

Unkindly be repaid. 
We left the bloody field, and sought 

The deep and tangled wood. 
Where every man in such course ran 

As to himself seemed good. 

The Battle of old Bladensburg ! 

A scene of honest glory ! 
Though little of our true desert 

Is given us in story. 
They say, our Capital was lost, 

Because we would not fight ! 

Is mercy, then, no grace in men, 

Unless they 're gainers by 't ? 
18* 



150 IVYWALL. 



I saw him after dinner, 

And his face was like the sun, 
When wearily he goes to rest, 

His long day's journey done. 
The beef had made it hot. 

And the wine had made it red, 
And a cloud was all around it. 

Like a curtain round a bed. 

His chair was tilted back, 

And his feet were on the wall, 
And the sorrows of the world 

Did not trouble him at all ! 
For though he toiled and puffed, 

Like an engine, or a stove. 
Yet smiled amid his labors 

This " cloud-compelling Jove !" 

Again I passed his dwelling, 

In the darkness of the night ; 
And still I knew the Smoker, 

Like a glow-worm, by his light. 
His head was still thrown back. 

And his feet were still on high. 
And he had a most peculiar look 

From out his half-shut eye. 



IVYWALL. lol 

'Twas morning ; and I saw him, 

This great Vesuvius man, 
And o'er the news-full paper 

His misty vision ran ; 
For still the fire was there, 

And still the smoke was thick : 
And I remembered me the tales 

Whose hero was — Old Nick ! 

I wondered, if he slept ? 

Or ever went about ? 
Or was he only some machine ? 

For what ? Ah, there's the doubt I 
Though pufiing, always puffing, 

He never seemed to go : 
What good he did by staying there, 

Is more than yet I know. 

A beggar-boy craved charity. 

The Smoker "blessed his stars!" 
And said, "he had no change to spare" — 

Then sent for more cigars ! 
The patient wife at last complains ; 

He gruffly bids her cease : 
" My home's a hell : it's very hard 

I cannot smohe in peace !" 



152 IVY WALL. 



Yankee Doodle ! long ago 

They played it to deride us, 
But now we march to victory, 
And thafs the tune to guide us ! 
Yankee Doodle ! ha ! ha ! ha ! 

Yankee Doodle Dandy ! 
How we made the Red- Coats run 
At Yankee Doodle Dandy ! 

To fight is not a pleasant game, 
But if we niust — we'll do it! 
When '' Yankee Doodle" once begins, 
The Yankee boys go through it ! 
Yankee Doodle ! ha ! ha ! ha ! 

Yankee Doodle Dandy ! 
" Go ahead !" our captains cry, 
At Yankee Doodle Dandy ! 

And let her come upon the sea. 

The insolent invader. 
There our Yankee boys will be, 
Prepared to serenade her ! 

Yankee Doodle ! ha ! ha ! ha ! 

Yankee Doodle Dandy ! 
Yankee guns will sing the bass 
Of Yankee Doodle Dandy ! 



IVYWALL. 158 

Yankee Doodle ! How it brings 
The good old days before us ! 
Two or three began the song — 
Millions join the chorus ! 

Yankee Doodle I ha ! ha ! ha ! 

Yankee Doodle Dandy ! 
Rolling round the continent 
Is Yankee Doodle Dandy ! 

Yankee Doodle ! Not alone 

The continent will hear it, 
But every land shall catch the tone, 
And every tyrant fear it ! 

Yankee Doodle ! ha ! ha ! ha ! 

Yankee Doodle Dandy! 
Freedom's voice is in the soua; 
Of Yankee Doodle Dandy I 



Death's desolation daily movetli on : 

The cottage rose, how fair its early bloom ! 

A moment, and the simple joy is gone, 
Darkened forever in the lonely tomb. 

Splendor, and song, and thrilling music tone, 
Casting enchantment o'er the palace hall : 



154 IVYWALL. 

A moment, these delights are strangely flown, 
Silence and sorrow dispossessing all ! 

Why bid the mourner dry his gushing tears ? 

Why not relieve the overflowing heart ? 
The form where clung so many hopes and fears, 

Shall it with cold indifierence depart ? 

No ! still affection shall the tribute pay, 
The parting tears shall fully, freely flow : 

Yet blissful visions to the soul shall say : 
" Remember ! this is not eternal woe !" 

Only a night of absence — 'tis no more ; 

How beautiful will be the promised morn ! 
The lost of earth will Heaven more bright restore, 

The dead, ev'n while we weep, again are born ! 

Where ? in what starry world of yonder sky ? 

What destiny shall linger with them there ? 
Shall they in joy live evermore '/ — or die, 

To live again in some still brighter sphere ? 

Thus on, and on, from world to higher world, 
In each receiving still-increasing good. 

Till GtOd's own glory slowly be unfurled. 
Till all His power. His love be understood I 

'' Our Father !" Thou hast taught us that dear name ! 
We move in darkness, yet we trust to Thee ! 
Believing, in the Land from whence we came, 
We shall again Thy happy children be ! 



IVYWALL. 155 



% 3mt pgl]t 0f Bmmtx. 

Afar the Moon^ in maiden majesty, 

Pursues lier azure path, and softly bright 
The timid stars impart their changing light. 

'Tis now the noon of silence ; now for me 

There seems a charm around, above, to be ; 
So holy is the stillness of the night. 
So beautiful whatever my roving sight 

On hill, and dale, and winding stream may see ! 
A passing breeze sighs o'er me ; from afar 

Comes a fond strain, a plaintive whisper tone, 
Uniting with the voice of deep guitar. 

That tells of lover's joy, and lover's moan. 

Thus the Last Night of Summer glides along, 

With moon and star-beam, music, love and song ! 



156 IVYWALL. 



GrOD bless thee, Maye ! Tliis sultry afternoon, 
Weary and sad of thought, I cast me down, 

Resting, but sleeping not : so kind a boon 

Then hopeless. Like a poor, beleaguered town. 

Within my heart was sorrow meeting sorrow, 

And none that ever dreamed of brighter morrow. 

I closed mine eyes. Now softly through the room 
I heard the careful steps of her I love; 

And presently there spread a pleasant gloom 
Around me, for the sun shone bright above. 

Too bright for slumber. Presently I knew 

She stood, and gazed, and watched each breath I drew. 

Then stole away so tenderly — one look, 

A long and sweet one, as she passed the door, 

Escaping with her newly-opened book. 

Her slow steps mounting to our chamber floor. 

Of this a part I saw, and felt a part. 

For love observeth, even from the heart ! 

Over my sorrows came the smile of peace, 

As over stormy waves the sunset ray. 
Till, less and less disturbed, at last they cease. 

And calmly mirror back the golden day. 



IVYWALL. 157 

Over the deluge of my soul came love, 
Bearing an olive-branch, like Noah's dove. 

And then I fancied brighter time, and then 
Distinctly rose a vine-clad cottage wall. 

Far down the forest winding of a glen, 
And near the tinkling of a waterfall ; 

And this was all mine own, and she was hei'e. 

Making my happy state, doubly dear ! 

And friends were mine, good friends, though only few, 
Who shared, in summer days, my fragrant bower. 

Or by my social hearth, in winter, drew. 

While verse and story sped the pensive hour. 

Not far the city lay : at Sabbath time. 

Over the hills, we heard the church-bells chime ! 

What merry parties on the grassy plain ! 

What rambling rides among the bending trees ! 
Often with friends, but oft, and oft again. 

Only dear Maye and I ; the perfumed breeze 
Waving her auburn curls, as, gladsomely. 
Her proud steed bounded on, so wild and free ! 

On sprang our steeds, through sun and checkered shade, 
Down the green vale and up the gentle hill, 

Or instantly, in full career, obeyed, 

And stood with arching necks, waiting our will ! 

Dismounting, then we rested by a spring, 

Drank the cool tide, and heard the linnet sing : 

And watched the broad oak leaves tnat whirling fell ; 

And through the forest vista looked afar, 
14 



158 IVYWALL. 

Talked quietly, and, loving all things well, 

Came slowly homeward 'neath the evening star : 
To pass, perchance, the early hours of night 
With books that made the very darkness light I 

We lived not for ourselves alone : we taught 
Whate'er of wisdom and of good we knew. 

And our reward was — only this we sought — 
The grateful smile that often met our view, 

The consciousness that children loved us more, 

And old men, entering, blessed our cottage door ! 

In the lone forest sometimes would I stray. 
And ^mid the inspirations breathing there, 

Would let my thoughts pursue their music way, 
Singing of all things bountiful and fair ; 

Trusting they should exist, and oft be read. 

When he who wrote them slumbered with the dead. 

Again, when desolate the wintry scene, 

In the small book-room would we sit together, 

Where some sweet page preserved our own world green. 
Enchanting it beyond all gloomy weather : 

Or, also there, would come the lightsome rhyme. 

With which our hearts, forever young, kept time ! 

And this — I know not how it was — was now ; 

We were not old, but looking forward yet 
Right trustfully, with calm, exalted brow. 

To many joys, before our sun should set. 
Nor fearing loss of all, when sank that light : 
Do not the stars shine out to bless the night ? 



IVYWALL. * 159 

Such were my fancies, and the sweetest still 
Were those that pictured her confiding soul, 

Faithful and kind, confronting every ill ; 

And, where her tenderness could not control, 

Soothing and cheering, by her angel love, 

Parting the cloud, revealing Heaven above ! 

Her smiling face ! — I woke ! It was before me, 

Smiling as I beheld it in my sleep : 
And as so lovingly 'twas bending o'er me, 

I gazed, I smiled ; then could not choose but weep. 
My strength returned, the storm that darkly lowered 
EoUed back, by Love's omnipotence o'erpowered I 



At summer evening's roseal hour, 

When care and toil were o'er, 
I wandered, lone and pensively, 

Potomac's shining shore. 
It was a sweet and quiet scene. 

To woo the pencil's art, 
And with inexplicable joy 

O'erflow the poet's heart ! 



160 IVYWALL. 

Around my winding, pebbly path 

Was solitude supreme, 
Save now and tlien a truant bird, 

That glanced across the stream, 
And near or far, where'er it went. 

With wing as swift and light. 
Its shadow, like a loving mate, 

Companion of its flight ! 

All silence, save the timid waves, 

That like a vestal train 
To music sad and low advanced, 

Hetired, and came again; 
Save whispers by the rugged banks. 

And through the bending trees, 
The gratitude of Earth to Heaven, 

The welcome of the breeze ! 

The forest-hills were purple-robed. 

And charmed the smiling eye 
To where the tints evanished soft 

Along the mellow sky. 
The fowler's lurking boat was seen. 

Quiescent, far away. 
And here and there a graceful sail, 

Grlad in the glowing day ! 

Now dim adown the dale appeared 
The City of my home. 

But nobly yet and brightly rose 
Fair Freedom's sacred Dome,* 

* The Csipitol at Washington. 



IVYWALL. 161 

ever thus, when night is near, 
May Heaven its smile bestow, 

And all the glory beaming here. 
In distant bosoms glow ! 

The crescent moon, a lonely star. 

Adorn the darkening west. 
And golden tints to silver pale. 

On sad Potomac's breast. 

1 linger long — ^but where is he, 
So dull of heart and cold. 

Whom Nature's gentlest scenery, 

Whom Thought, have ne'er controlled ? 

Potomac hath but simple grace, 

But humble hills and vales ; 
No castles rising gloomily. 

No wild, chivalric tales ; 
And yet it is a storied scene. 

And here the true and brave 
Will seek the home of Washington, 

And muse above his grave ! 



14* 



162 IVYWALL. 



®ljt milt a' " f irklMo!) |;imt" 

My hills are green, an' crowned wi' trees, 

An' vines an' flowers are tliere, 
An' o'er my vales tlie simmer breeze 

Wide waves the harvest fair. 
I hear the bonnie birdies sing, 

An' I could sing the same, 
Wi' thought o' her, the winsome thing, 

The Wife o' Kirkwood Hame ! 

I wad na gie my simple state 

For a' the warld hae seen, 
I ask na ither gift o' fate 

Than ingle joy wi' Jean ! 
My cannie wee-ones by my side, 

Wha lisp their daddie's name, 
As cheerfu' looks, wi' mither pride. 

The Wife o' Kirkwood Hame! 

I 've mingled wi' the strife o' town. 

To trust, an^ be deceived, 
I felt my spirit drooping down, 

For meickle was it grieved : 
But now, frae ilka ill awa'. 

These cares my duty claim. 
An' sweetly smiles aboon them a' 

The Wife o' Kirkwood Hame ! 



IVYWALL. 163 



Love ! the fairest, dearest cliild thou art 

Of Him who rules the myriad worlds of space ; 
In Heaven thy home is on His happy heart, 

And Earth receives with joy thy smiling face. 
Beautiful Spirit ! unto thee belong 

Wondrous enchantments never known before ; 
the sweet charm that animates thy song ! 

the ineffable angelic lore 
Thy presence breathes, of peace, and faith, and truth, 

Yet all with mystery, to win the soul. 
And train by slow degrees its erring youth 

To gain the golden prize of Virtue's goal ! 
Thus, a bright visitant from Heaven is Love, 
Whereof she whispers part, and offers all above ! 



164 IVYWALL. 



%\lt InMitn ll0ini-&* 



* 



'T WAS nigM, the noon of summer night, 
And shone the stars serenely bright, 
And from the silent homes of men 
Alone I slowly wandered then, 

Afar and pensively. 

The joyous moon up-rose at last, 
And o'er the river, gliding fast, 
And o'er the plain, and tangled brake. 
The hill, the dale, and quiet lake, 

Her smile fell silvery ! 

Ah ! sweet at such an hour to rove. 
When earth around, and heaven above, 
E'en in their very silence tell 
The heart such tales as please it well. 
Of love's futurity ! 

The Indian Mound ! 0, sacred place ! 
Proud tomb of a departed race ! 
How Fancy calleth back again 
The crowd that moveth o'er the plain, 
So slow, so mournfully ! 

* Near St. Loiiis, Missouri. 



IVYWALL. 165 

The chieftain dead they bear along — 
The fitful wail — the burial song — 
And prayers that would the lost recall — 
And tears that for the valiant fall, 

Who sleepeth placidly ! 

The many disappear, but yet, 
Matoa ! iliou canst not forget — 
ThoiL canst not, though his eyes be dim. 
And cold his heart, depart from him, 
Once loved so tenderly ! 

Tomb of the gentle, wise, and brave ! 
Pride, worth, ambition's honored grave ! — 
Their very names have passed away. 
And as the night doth conquer day, 
They faded presently ! 

And thus, perchance a little while. 
When Death may steal the sunny smile, 
The stranger passing by shall find 
My grave — but only summer's wind 
To tell my ".listory. 

Alas, its ever-sighing tone. 
Its whence and whither both unknown, 
Its roving life, and nature frail, 
Tell, truly tell, the tearful tale 
Of human destiny 



t 



166 IVYWALL. 



^ c^^trtl* 



It was a most unnatural condition^ 

And bore too heavy on the lady's heart, 

Which panted, struggled, moaned despairingly, 

E'en as a carrier-bird, that longs to give 

Its message, caring not who taketh it, 

So anxious for relief. The fair Matilda 

Possessed a Secret, 'twas important, too. 

In sooth the most important maid can have. 

Because relating to herself and John, 

The dear John Smith, her bosom's destined lord. 

They were " engaged," and long deliberation 

Had fixed the happy day ; but John requested. 

Moved by timidity, perhaps, or caution. 

That none should know the contract. She was willing, 

At least she thought so then, yet Time revealed 

Her heart with other 'wishes : — John controlled them, 

For oft the lovers met, and every meeting 

He urged the old request. But now there came. 

Throughout the District of the plighted pair, 

A scarcity of cash, and not a house, 

Either of delicate frame or ruddy brick. 

Not e'en a shed, for coal, or cow, or horse. 

Was seen uprising ; so our carpenter — 

I should have told his trade some ten lines back — 

One morning took the cars for Baltimore, 



IVY WALL. Wi 

In search of work. He had been gone a mouth, 
And all that weary while had only written 
Six letters to Matilda ! ^t was cruel ! 
What wonder that her gentle heart was sad ? 
What wonder such nnfrequent intercourse 
With him she loved should leave an aching void 
In her affections ? Is it, then, surprising, 
Thus overwhelmed with agony of absence. 
She should assume her bonnet, muff, and shawl, 
And, after seeing that the fire was safe, 
Depart at once, with step of resolution, 
Nor pause until she reached Miss Jackson's door. 
Her nearest friend, and trust to Mary's bosom 
The precious secret pining in her own ? 
The heart that once hath felt the blaze of love. 
If chance should e'er withdraw the sacred torch. 
Will in its lonely darkness surely languish. 
Unless the light of friendship, though a taper, 
With sympathy shine o'er its desolation. 
Matilda told the tale, and Mary heard 
With eager ears, and oft-repeated vows 
Of lasting faith ; and promised, as reward, 
Her private parleys with the little god. 
If e'er she met him. 

Now, 'twas wondrous sweet, 
As both together on the sofa sat. 
Or half reclined, with fair soft arms embraced. 
And glossy curls that touched each other's cheek, 
While cracked and sparkled cheerily the fire. 
While j)uss with puzzled paws pursued her tail — 
'T was sweet to see them, like a pair of sisters, 
Mingle, in voice subdued, their angel souls ! 



168 IVYWALL. 

Matilda felt how excellent is friendsliip, 

And even dared to think that John himself 

Could scarce make happier hour ! And then she rose, 

Gave Mary, charge of sacred secrecy, 

Replied in full to — " Tilda, why so soon ? " 

Repeated through the hall the parlor charge, 

Once more, upon the porch — and sailed away. 

The night was near, and Mary hurried off 

To deck her beauty — Mrs. Lackingwit 

Received to-night a chosen company. 

A crowd was there, and Mary smiled around. 

The poor piano heaved unnoticed groans, 

And now and then a sentimental song 

Was heard above the din of many tongues. 

In music's hopeless horror : — then a pause, 

As when a pedagogue alarms his school. 

Deep, dreadful, breathless silence. 

" Mary, dear ! "— 

It was the very skeleton of sound, 

Sharp, cold, and startling ; 't was the ancient voice 

Of Miss Almira Long, the awe of men, 

The virgins' monitress, and scold of cooks : — 
" What color have you chosen for your bonnet ? 

I saw Matilda Jenks before your door 

This afternoon, and hence I guess, my love. 

You sent for her, to have a consultation." 
'' No, Miss, it only was a friendly visit." 
" A visit, love ! so, then, you are acquainted ? " 
^' Why not. Miss Long ? " ^'0 nothing, nothing, love ! 

She is, no doubt, a good, well-meaning creature. 

But dresses — though I 'm sure 't is not my business — 



IVYWALL. 169 

Above her station. Why, a milliner 

Should learn she 's not a lady ; yes, she should : 

And not be flirting out with muffs and plumes, 

And taking to herself the Avenue ! 

Grood gracious me ! I do declare ! I never ! 

But she ^11 discover very few believe 
' Fine feathers make fine birds ^ — she will, indeed ! 

And all her arts will never catch a husband !" 
" Her arts, Miss Long ? '' the angry Mary cried, 
" Now I can tell you, Tilda has no arts ; 

But if she wished a teacher, I could find one ! 

A husband, too ! Well, I can tell you. Miss, 

Tilda could marry now, that 's more than some could. 

For she 's engaged to Mr. Smith, of Georgetown, — 

She told me so to-day !" 

Miss Long was hushed ; 

And silent wonder stared throughout the room. 

Then Mary bound them all to keep the Secret : — 
Ten ladies told my wife, the morning after. 
My wife, of course, told me — hut here it ends ! 



15 



170 IVYWALL. 



The Spirit loves to wander back 

The old, familiar past, 
Or seek the future's wilderness, 

Strange, visionary, vast ! 

But seldom will it rest its wing 

Amid the present scene. 
Though Pleasure wave her jewelled wand, 

And Beauty smile, a Queen ! 

Spirit ! chain thy roving thought ! 

To-day alone is thine ! 
The star that lit thy early flight 

Is doomed no more to shine ! 

But see ! the glorious present hour 

Reveals a nobler fate ! 
Come, win the Heaven-presented prize, 

While sister Angels wait ! 

Act now ! the future lures afar, 

It may not smile for thee ! 
Yet shall thy deeds, or idleness, 

A curse or blessing be ! 

Yes, millions, round the rolling World, 
Thy life's effect shall know. 



IVYWALL. 171 



And teach the millions after them, 
Till countless ases flow ! 



"O" 



Awake ! thou knowest not thyself ! 

Thy dignity behold ! 
Thy actions, good or ill, must live ! 

Thy thoughts in Heaven are told ! 



I may never see thee more, 

Yet in each familiar place 
Must I linger as before, 

And our timid love retrace : 
As a spirit haunts the home 

Where it dwelt in mortal years, 
"With my solemn thoughts I roam. 

With my secret sighs and tears ! 

I may never see thee more ; 

Though the world is dark to me, 
Yet the past I '11 not deplore. 

But I'll fondly think of thee. 
Till the lesson of thy life. 

And the beauty of thy love. 
Arch a rainbow o'er the strife. 

For my soul to thine above ! 



172 IVYWALL. 



Escaped the city's dust and noise, 
Its crime, and pride, and tinsel toys^ 

I found a green, romantic hill. 
Where vines and flowers were cheerful things, 
And butterflies, with glorious wings. 

Were flitting at their own wild will ; 
And came the cedar-scented breeze. 
Soft rustling through the grand oak trees. 

0, sweet it was to fly from men. 
To think — to read — and idly then. 

Perchance beneath the changing shade 
On that far-seeing hill reclined. 
Or where the murmuring waters wind 

Lovely and lone along the glade, 
Idly, and yet with busy brain. 
To woo and win the poet's train ! 

There is — there is — I care not how 
The wise, with all-pretending brow. 

May mock and scorn my simple speech — 
There is an inspiration taught 
By scenes our Blessed GtOD hath wrought, 

A power, a bliss no man may teach ! 
And I have felt the sacred ray. 
Which yet my words cannot portray. 



IVYWALL. 173 

But still it aids the striving soul 
To compreliend its Lord's control, 

Thus breathing from the varied scene, 
If happily there chance to be 
Another in the mystery — 

Like mine with that of Evelene, 
And higher truth the two may find 
On Earth and in the Realm of Mind. 

Fair friend, so lately known, yet well ; 
I prize, beyond my verse to tell. 

My spirit's intercourse with thine. 
And like thy gift of sister love. 
When lone I mused in yonder grove — 

A flower- wreathed bowl of fragrant wine — 
So sweet thy cup of life be found, 
With GtOd's bright buds of promise round ! 



fntril SJEks iit u §00lu 

Through all this summer morning I've been reading 
The large, quaint pages of an olden story ; 
A book in which I've found a name unknown. 
The name of some one who possessed it once, 
Written in school-girl style, inclining down. 
Most liberal of flourishes ; " Her Book" 
Beneath the signature ; and then the date : 
One hundred years ago ! 
15* 



174 IVYWALL. 

I looked upon it 
Often and long before I read the story, 
Thinking, but vainly, ever, " Who was she ? 
Where dwelt the little maiden ? — whom she loved ? 
And was she loved again ? And was she happy ?— 
And children, too, were hers, who read this book, 
Smiliiig as she had smiled in early years ? 
Then age arrived, perhaps ; and death at last — 
Yes, surely death :'^ and thus my mind went on, 
Striving in dreamy mood to trace the past. 
Of which the simple fact of life gone out 
Alone was manifest. 

I conned each letter, 
To learn some secret of her character. 
For thus our modern sages say we can — 
But rested still in doubt : then turned away. 
And read and read the old, romantic page. 
Finding full often in my pleasant course 
Slight pencil marks along the ample margin, 
And here and there some passage doubly marked. 
And presently a word of admiration. 
Or one or two dissenting. 

Now no more 
The name appeared unknown to me ] a friend 
The stranger seemed ; her history familiar ; 
For sympathy had brought our lives together 
In a sweet unison : we smiled, we wept. 
We hoped and feared together. And the book 
Had a new charm for me, beyond the story. 
For her soft eyes first glanced along the lines, 
For her kind heart was centred here awhile, 
For her fair fingers wrote these loving words ! 



IVY WALL. 175 



%\)t §lrtist. 

The eve, when they bore thee all sadly away, 
With the pride of the Summer was lovely and gay. 
A storm had passed over the landscape, but now 
The sunset fell soft on the gem-laden bough, 
And the hills and the vales in their glory were dressed, 
And purple and gold were the clouds of the west. 
And the rainbow was up, and the beautiful birds 
Beneath its grand arch sang their mystical words, 
Like spirits of Heaven, ascended and sang, 
Till fainter and fainter the melody rang. 

They bore thee all sadly away to the tomb ; 

A death-cloud had darkened thy summer of bloom : — 

The changes of nature, or wild or serene. 

Thou had'st stood in the rapture of genius, and seen, 

Seen by the light of beauty and love. 

Which the Blessed bestows from its fountain above, 

That His chosen may teach to the children of Earth 

The joys of their home, and the bliss of their birth ! 

Eight nobly performed was thy mission divine. 
As a wand was thy pencil, and all things were thine: 
Glowing with freshness, and perfect in truth. 
The landscape immortal lived on in its youth. 
And yet in far time shalt thou please and inspire, 
And awake in the soul a sweet love and desire. 



176 IVYWALL. 

A love that is holy, that lingers to gaze, 

A hope that looks upward with prayer and with praise ! 

Thou art gone : and the passion that shone in thine eye, 
And the skill of thy hand — dark and moveless they lie. 
But I know it had pleased thy pure spirit to dream 
Thou would'st pass to thy rest 'neath the sunset's glad 

beam. 
When floated sublime, in their roseal hue, 
The multiform clouds through the infinite blue, 
When the rainbow stole out, when the birds were in 

song, 
When the gold, slanting light, all the landscape along, 
Was lovely and loving: — for thus did thine art 
A glow and a beauty most fondly impart ; 
And gentle and warm as the sunset wert thou. 
And thy last look a blessing, as evening's is now ! 



Gentle Willow, now to thee 
Shall my verse of praising be : 
Fair thou art, exceedingly ! 

Oftentimes, in early lays. 
Other trees had prouder -praise. 
In my forest-roving days : 



IVYWALL. 177 



Then I had not seen the Maid, 
Who the meed of merit paid 
Thee, beneath thy green arcade ! 



"} 



Then the willow-walk had not, 
Haunt of love, become a spot 
Fondly sought, and ne'fer forgot I 

Thus the graceful tree I found. 
Like Estella, should be crowned 
Queen of all the forest round ! 

Emblem — is it not ? — of worth, 
Beauty, truth, and gentle birth. 
Bowed by sorrow down to earth. 

Yes : — and still with power serene. 
Modest, melancholy mien. 
Live forever, lovely Queen ! 

Ever dear to me thou art, 

Linked with being's brightest part. 

Like her image in my heart. 

Sacred Willow, still to thee 
Shall my tuneful tribute be : 
Fair thou art, exceedingly ! 



178 IVYWALL. 



* * * >iJ * * 

— The midniglit lamp was burning faintly, 
Suspended from a lofty ceiling, 
Within a Grothic chamber. Sweetly 
A sighing breeze, that lately roved 
The moonlit lake, and graceful garden, 
Yet, lover-like, no pleasure found, 
No rest, though all was peace and joy, 
At last the open casement entered. 
Where long its serenading music 
Before had sounded. 

Maiden beauty 
Not here, in timid trust, awaits. 

But hark, the Wind-Harp's welcoming 

Comes forth to meet it ! — low, at first, 

And like an echo heard at eve 

Among the solemn hills afar, 

Or like the voice to Fancy known. 

When all her soul is poesie ! 

Then slowly upward rolls the strain. 

As if inspired by grander thoughts. 

And on, still on ; and silent now ; 

And now again a distant note 

Of love and sorrow, hope and fear; 

And then a tone of anger, loud 



IVYWALL. 179 

But brief, and dying off to pity ! 
With many a rise and many a fall, 
More sweet than mortal touch may give, 
The trembling strings are eloquent ! 



The summer moon serenely moves 

Along the deep blue sky. 
And the stars look forth, and the breeze awakes, 

And glideth gently by. 

And there ^s no sound upon the hill, 

And none adown the dale. 
Save the low-toned music of a stream. 

That tells a pleasant tale : 

A tale so full of melody 

That the night-birds pause to hear. 
And even the sorrowful willows dance 

To the voice of the waters clear ! 

The summer moon glides on apace : 

Two youthful forms are seen ; 
And they wander hand in hand along, 

With a seeming pensive mien. 



180 IVYWALL. 

And now a song of early days — 

And now tlie song 's no more ; 
And their lips have met, with a thrilling kiss- 

And will it ne'er be o'er ? 

A blush — a sudden flow of tears, 

But not the tears of sorrow ; 
A whispered word, and a fond reply — 

And a bride will smile to-morrow ! 



Alexander was Great, and Napoleon bold, 
C93sar was terrible, Pompey too. 

But never did mortal eye behold 
One terrible, bold and great as you : 
"Silence! Silence!" 

When the spectacled Judges take their seat, 
You solemnly march to take your own ; 

The clock strikes ten, you start to your feet, 
And " open the court" with trumpet tone : 
" yes ! yes !" 

At the sound of your mighty words of law, 
The truant school-boy pants with dread. 



IVYWALL. 181 

While the negro rolls his eyes in awe, 
And shows to the Court his woolly head : 
"Hats off! Hats off !^' 

Then you look majestic round and round, 
And if any there be who speaks aloud, 

From your lofty chair you lightly bound, 

And force your way through the wondering crowd : 
" Come, sir ! Come, sir! ^' 

While the Court proceeds with its grave debate, 
You practise your speeches o'er and o'er. 

Till, the brain oppressed with legal weight, 
A dream curtails the solemn store : 

"Walk light! Walk light!'' 

Sleep on, Crier, most dreadful still. 

Even your slumbers startle the hall. 
And your resolute snore proclaims your will. 

Seeming, instead of a tongue, to bawl : 
^'Silence! Silence!" 



Ere Heaven's last angel flew from Eden's bowers 
He sought the drooping Eve, and, offering flowers, 
" Take these," he said ; " in their immortal bloom 
Resides a charm to cheer thy future gloom." 
16 



182 IVYWALL. 

She pressed them to her bosom, and the while 
Looked up and caught the angel's holy smile. 

Those flowers had been her favorites many a day, 
When the glad angels thronged around her way ; 
0, doubly dear they were, now all was o'er, 
And Eden closed, a Iwme for her no more ! 

She called their music-names, and kissed them still. 
The name of one, that by a happy rill 
Stood modestly, she " Virtue " called, and this, 
For memory's sake, received her lingering kiss — 
The lily, thus since known ; and, next, the rose. 
Worthy to bear the name its guardian chose ; 
That name, save Virtue, every name above. 
The soul-enchanting. Heaven-revealing " Love." 

Dear were these flowers to Eve where'er she went, 
Restoring Eden even in banishment. 
Or whispering of an Eden yet to be, 
Happy, eternal, from the Tempter free. 

Dear were these flowers to Eve ; and, as she died, 
Calling her favorite daughters to her side, 
" Take these," she said, and, in a little while 
Left them the memory of an angel smile. 

Since then. Eve's favorite daughters ever wear 
The blooming rose, and lily, tender fair. 
Are still with Virtue crowned, adorned with Love, 
And that angelic smile that lures the soul above ! 



IVYWALL. 183 



Gone ! The kind, the beautiful ! 

In her early bloom ! 
Over joyous hearts hath fallen, 

Suddenly, a gloom ! 

Gone ! The smile, the music tone — 
Fond, and sweet, and dear ! 

They were such as poets dream of : 
Seldom such appear ! 

Yes ; beyond their brightest dreaming, 

Far surpassing all. 
Shone the glory of her presence 

In her father's hall. 

Life may have a thousand graces, 

By the crowd unseen ; 
Humble deeds of love and duty, 

Lofty, yet serene — 

These were hers; and how endearing 

Those who feel may say. 
No ! such feelings are too sacred 

For the common day I 



184 IVYWALL. 

Round the heart, like doves, they nestle, 

Soothing it to rest ; 
Till the soul looks up, triumphant, 

Where the lost is blest ! 

Dead she is not, but departed 

To the happy shore : 
^T is an angel's influence pleading — 

Weep ye, then, no more I 



®I]e Song 0f t\)t ^tm. 

" E Pluribus Unum !" The world with delight 
Looks up to the starry blue banner of night, 
In its many-blent glory rejoicing to see 
America's motto, the pride of the Free ! 

" E Pluribus Unum I" Our standard forever ! 
Woe, woe to the heart that would dare to dissever ! 
Shine, Liberty's stars ! your dominion increase ! 
A guide in the battle, a blessing in peace ! 

'^E Pluribus Unum !" And thus be, at last, 
From Land unto Land our broad banner cast. 
Till its Stars, like the stars of the sky, be unfurled. 
In beauty and glory, embracing the world ! 



IVYWALL. 185 



And both were pale and dying, 

On the humble cottage bed, 
But still their young affection 

All its golden glory shed, 
As eye to eye was speaking, 

With a calm and tender ray. 
And hope immortal rising. 

Smiled the gloom of death away ! 

'T was beautiful to see them, 

Though a sadness, too, was there, 
For Heaven's divinest graces 

Were around the wedded pair; 
Yes, Love, the ever-constant, 

And the grave-triumphant Love, 
With Truth, the bright reflection 

Of our GrOD, who shines above ! 

Their lips moved slow and painful. 

And a few fond words they spoke. 
But still their whispered music 

Scarce the sacred silence broke ; 
When came the laugh of childhood. 

And in wild and careless glee, 
A boy, with cheek of roses. 

And a girl, with tresses free ! 
16* 



186 IVYWALL. 

The father looked upon them, 
' And his eyes were dim with teai*s : 
Alas, the grief and danger 

Of their future lonely years ! 
He strove with bitter anguish, 
And in sighing accents said : 
'• 0, who will guard my children 
When I sleep among the dead ! ' 

' Their God ! ' the mother answered, 
^ And I bless His holy name. 
For the promise that our lone-ones 

May in Him a father claim ! 
The ^ orphan's God !' Remember ! 

O, remember !' — And she died. 
A smile in beauty lingered 
On the cold face by her side ! 

Yes, Man may soar majestic 

In the brilliant sky of mind. 
But sorrow clouds his triumph, 

And he sinks, obscure and blind ; 
While Woman, last from Heaven, 

Is the first to find the way. 
And cheer the soul, and crown it 

With the joy of perfect day ! 



IVY WALL. 187 



JLntlrm. 



Sung in the Lodge of Sorrow, held at Washington in Memory of III. Bro. 
John Anthony Quitman, 33d, on the 30th of March, 1860, by the Supreme 
Council for the Southern Jurisdiction of the United Staffes. 

Weep no more ! He is not dead ! 
On the earth he rests his head, 
But his Spirit everywhere, 
Like the Sunlight, fills the air ! 

Weep no more ! His deeds remain, 
Done on many a crimson plain. 
Haunting still our flag, and told 
To every breeze by every fold. 

Hail to him whose burning word 
Wintry Senates, kindling, heard. 
While, by acclamations fanned, 
Ran the fire throughout the land ! 

Hail to him, above the rest. 
Ye who knew and loved him best. 
Brethren, hail his battle done. 
Earth and Heaven together won ! 



188 IVY WALL. 



%\t |r^ss* 



Read at the Forty-second Anniversary of the Columbia Typographical Society, 
January 17, 1857, by Thomas C. Connolly, Esq. 

Darkness enslirouded earth; 

And yet the sun poured undiminished light, 
And myriad stars illumed the dome of night, 

And the oft-coming moon 
Renewed the lovely wonder of her birth, 

And still was fairer, till her beauty's noon 
Became angelic : — ^yet the earth was dark, 
Or, only at far intervals, a spark, 
Feeble and tremulous, responsive shone 

To all Heaven's glory ! 

Alas, the sad, sad story. 
The wrong, the misery, to darkness known ! 
Unrecognized as brother, 

With hatred man met man; 
And Superstition cried : " Destroy each other V^ 

And led the murderous van ! 

What if the sun shine from his proudest height ? 
What if the moon and stars make fair the night ? — 

If the great world of Mind 

In darkness be confined — 
There is no light ! 



IVYWALL. 189 

Break through the ancient walls ! 
Regard no menace — Lo ! the Tyrant falls 

Deadj if defied ! 
Rush, resolutely on ! In yonder cell 

Knowledge is bound in chains i 
Let her be free ! Let her go forth and tell 

Glad tidings ! Knowledge is the Heaven-sent bride 
The World is longing for; and her increase 
Shall be Religion, Freedom, Love, and Peace ! 

Darkness retires ; 

From hill to hill leap the electric fires : — 

Where yet a shade remains, 
Unweariedly the Press, with giant might. 

Ever, forever. 
Darts inexhaustible, all-glorious light. 

Forever ! 



Miss Polly Marshall, of the American Theatre. 

Whether tragic she, or jolly, 
Where's the like of " Pretty Polly?" 

Music rises — see ! she dances ! 
Sunlight in her sportive glances, 
On she comes, as comes the roseal 
Evening cloud, when winds ambrosial 



190 IVYWALL. 

Waft it to the golden portal; 
Yet, thougli " Pretty Polly's" mortal, 
Sucli a glory beams around lier. 
That if, suddenly, we found her 
Fading in her beauty's splendor, 
'Mid the graces that attend her, 
So to us 't would seem a vision 
Should — to glory more elysian ! 

Gently, sweetly, ceases dancing. 
Now she sings. Her voice entrancing 
Leaps at once to each aiFection, 
Conquering all to her direction ! 

Then another change — and sadness 

Clouds her young life's dawning gladness — 

Sighs, and tears — and accents broken — 

Yet her sorrow still is spoken 

Music-toned ; and when, returning, 

Joy is queen — her dark eyes, burning, 

Cast their fairy lights, that quiver, 

As the sunbeams on a river. 

O'er her cheeks, her lips — ^illuming 

All her beauty newly blooming — 

And her voice flows softer, clearer. 

Ever fonder, ever dearer — 

Ah ! there's such a charm about her. 

All's sweet with her, nought without her I 

Whether tragic she, or jolly, 
Where's the like of " Pretty Polly?'' 



IVYWALL. 191 



He stood behind tlie counter^ 

And a smile was on his face ; 
And a maiden was before him, 

In that ceiling-lighted place ; 
And calico, ten pieces, 

Unrolled between them lay : 
And thus the clerk and customer 

Were wearing out the day ! 

He told her this would wash, 

And he told her that was fine. 
And he called her close attention 

To the beautiful design ; 
And a Secretary's lady ,; 

Bought twenty yards of this — 
" And shall I cut you off the same ? 

I know you ^11 like it, Miss ! " 



No, no, she could n't — would n' 

But she thought she 'd rather look 
At a piece of purple silk — and yet 

No piece of silk she took ! 
Then gloves — they were ^'too large;" 

Then ribbons — " all too plain :" — 
And the pile grew higher, higher ; 

And she said — she 'd " call again ! " 



192 IVYWALL. 

Alas, alas, poor clerk ! 

My heart was full of sorrow 
At all thy fruitless labor — 

The same, perchance, to-morrow !- 
To stand, and talk, and smile, 

And spread thy goods about; 
Yet find thy stratagems too weak 
" To lure a sixpence out ! 

Thou surely must be something 

Or more or less than man, 
For looking still as pleasantly 

As ere the siege began ; 
Replacing all the pieces. 

And smoothing them to rest, 
Even as a loving mother 

Calms her babe upon her breast ! 

Job is not dead : he liveth 

Mos^ patiently in thee, 
His wondrous gentleness improved, 

As all the world may see '! 
Thou lookest like an angel. 

And surely art no less ! — = 
Such height of admiration 

No language may express] 



JVYWALL. 193 



filpim 



Little we know, 
And in our ignorance too oft rebel. 

GrOD looks in pity on our darkling woe : 
" He doeth all thino-s well !" 



^a"- 



" Knowledge is power :'' 
Knowledge is Virtue, were a nobler truth ; 

Heaven's ligbt, and crown, and beatific dower ; 
The soul's eternal youth ! 

Abroad through time, 
Lost children, cheated by our hopes and fears, 

We wander, and recall some home-taught rhyme, 
The music of the spheres ! 

And thus, amid 
The discords, which are passions of the Earth — 

Like birds within a sombre forest hid. 
Sing joys of holier birth ! 

Our lives resemble 
The mystic breathings of the wild wind's lute — 

Mournful forever — and the accents tremble — 
Are sweetest sad — then mute. 



17 



194 IVYWALL. 



" Like ships at sea, while in above the world." 

NigM Thoughts. 

Proudly o'er tlie conquered ocean, 
All her sails in sunlight flashing, 
Back her prow the white foam dashing. 

Like a warrior, home returning. 
Bounds the eager bark ! 

O,^ she dared an awful battle. 

Lightning wrath, and thunder rattle. 
Billows dread and dark ! 

Even when the deep was smiling, 
When the rainbow bent above her, 
When the breeze, a minstrel lover. 

Songs of beauty softly singing. 
Sought her placid breast ; 

When the nautilus came gladly — 

Still the bark remembered sadly, 
'T was a syren's rest ! 

Only to destruction luring. 

Trust her not, she never sleepeth. 
Cruel watch and ward she keepeth. 

For the weak, unwary stranger. 
O'er the lost below. 



IVYWALL. 195 



Bravely on, with constant pinion ! 
See ! beyond her false dominion, 
Friendly Islands glow ! 

Soul immortal, Heaven-descended ! 

Destined for the Isles of Beauty ! 

^T is thy GoD-directed duty. 
With the World's wild ocean warring. 

With its fatal peace. 
Thitherward to point thy banner. 
Bearing brilliantly : " Hosanna ! " 

Till thy warfare cease. 

Fear thou not, whatever peril. 

Dark, deceitful, may assail thee ; 

Never shall thy Compass fail thee : 
Never, though thy way seem lonely, 

Shalt thou be alone : 
Oft a mystic Light appearing, 
Oft a Music, soft and cheering, 

Strange, prophetic tone ! 

Light and music, gloom and discord. 
Long upon the deep beguiling. 
Mingle with eternal smiling 

Now around the Isles of Beauty, 
Bound the happy shore : 

Angel forms of love are meeting : 

Hark their ecstasy of greeting : 
' Best ! and roam no more I ' 



196 IVYWALL. 



In a day of cold December, 

Love was flying round ; 
Seeing on my hearth an ember : 
'^Ha!" said he, "^t is found!" 
With his wings he fanned the fire, 

Till a blaze it grew. 
Warmer, brighter, higher, higher : 
"This," said he, '^ will do!" 

But, alack for Love, unthinking, 

'Mid his glad employ ! 
Out a flame leaps, while he 's winking. 

Burns his wings, poor boy ! 
'' Now," said weeping Love, '^ all 's over ! 

Who can count the cost ! 
Just about to ' live in clover ' — 

Annie Hilton 's lost ! " 

'' Annie Hilton ! AYhat ! you know her ! " 

Breathless I exclaimed. 
" That do I !" said Love, " and owe her 
All for which I 'm famed ! 
How to wreathe my lips, she taught me ! 

How to move my eyes ! 
0, the bliss her lessons brought me !" — 
Then the rest was sighs. 



IVYWALL. 197 

Touched with pity : " Dear one, hither I 
Come to me 'J' I said, 
^' Where I keep her image" — Whither, 
Think you, had he fled ? 
Why, I heard him laugh, that minute : 
" Here I am ! — ^your heart ! 
Don't be scared — I 'm snugly in it, 
And I won't depart ! 

" No, I won't depart, though lonely, 

Somewhat, is the place ; 
You must take me where — ^here only — 

Smiles an angel face — 
Annie Hilton's ! But, before it, 

Find an Album bright. 
Choose a rosy page, and o'er it 

Love's adventure write ! 

" Send the book to gentle Annie, 

With a word or two ; 
Seal the note, lest Mary, Fannie, 

Jane, should talk of you ! 
So shall Annie Hilton know it — 

That she is most dear : — 
I will add a postscript. Poet ! 

Yes, and date it here ! " 



17* 



198 IVYWALL. 



liars min. 

I have but pleasant thouglits of tliee, 
I cannot weep, thougli thou art dead ; 

To weep would seem impiety, 
A wrong unto thy spirit fled : 

For in thy life such beauty shone, 

I can have pleasant thoughts alone ! 

I look upon thy placid face — 

Thine eyes illume it not — 'tis cold ; 

Thy pale, still lips — no more I trace 
Their smile. But unimpaired I hold 

A living impress in my heart, 

And love it. It can not depart I 

I gaze upon thee. No! 'tis thou 
Who lookest from thy home above, 

Thyself a viewless angel now. 

Rejoicing in Our Father's love : — 

And this — the image of my friend. 

To mark her journey's happy end I 

Yes, in the bright Eternal Land, 
Beyond the tearful Vale of Tombs, 

First welcomed by thy Sister's hand, 

Thou rovest. And the sweet rose blooms, 

Without a thorn. The waters flow 

In music. White wings come and go ! 



IVYWALL. 1V)9 

Thou canst not visit us again, 

Nor would I that thou shouldst return ; 
Thy lot is bliss, our own is pain — 

But thus the gold of love we earn, 
And win the prize. Thou hast it ! Well 
Thy pilgrimage the way doth tell ! 



®tM |al)les from tl]^ lolislr. 

Anthony Goreqki. 



The Coronation. 

A Greenfinch said to a Swallow : " Whither 
This crowd of magpies, ravens, crows?" 

" To-day there will be a Coronation ; 

And each one hurries to his station — 
Good reason, everybody knows ! 

For meet reward allures them thither !" 
^^But who the King?'' 
" Ah, that's the thing ! 

A shrewd one 1 To decide the claim 

In true legitimacy's name. 

And universal peace to keep. 

The Wolf himself will be King o' the Sheep I" 



200 IVYWALL. 

II. 

The Cat and the Mouse. 

A Mouse was eating a book. A Cat, 

Quietly passing hj, 
Said to the Mouse : '' Now why is that ?" 

'^ Because/' was the Mouse-reply, 

" The book contains a lie — 
YeSj an impudent lie of you V' 
'' Whether the book be false or true, 
Know, Sir Mouse, the Press is free, 
And I am King, and it so shall be !" 
Then, for example's sake, he took 
For dinner the Mouse that dined on the book ! 

When you are a Mouse in the paws of a Cat, 
Justice is sure ! Kely on that ! 



Mu Hiti) S&mniu 



Gi' 



When Man was lost in Paradise, 
It was a grievous thing, no doubt ; 

But, by her own fair sacrifice, 

A Woman — bless her ! — helped him out ! 



IVYWALX, -201 



Hymen was a Grecian youth, 

Dwelling by the sea. 
(i old he had not : love and truth 

Were his treasurie — 

Wealth that is no care to keep, 

' Crown of joy and balm of sleep I 

Happy as the breeze that bore 
Music to the blooming shore ; 
Happy as the liberal waves, 
Showering diamonds in the caves j 
Blessed as heaven's blue arch above, 
Lit with truth, and breathing love. 

O'er so beautiful a life 

Must there come a cloud ? 

Nature with herself at strife 1 
Fair — and yet so proud ! 

Maiden of the palace, see ! 

Hymen's love were grace for thee I 

Bending servitors of state — 
What if love himself should wait "/ 
Hollow words of purchased praise — 
Love's one whisper bliss conveys ! 
Gemmed tiara, glittering chains — 
Love's light hand more wealth contains 3 



202 IVYWALL, 

No : she scorns the lover's vow. 

Maiden, still beware ! 
Even Olympus' height will bow 

To a lover's prayer! 
Love will conquer Earth, and rise, 
Conqueror yet, to rule the skies ! 

'Twas a gay-robed page, who sought 
Service, and all favor brought, 
Such as gentle wiles reveal, 
Such as youth and beauty seal ; 
So the lady's will he gained, 
So the service sought obtained. 

Evening's placid hour : the sun 
Hallowing the scene. 

Wanders forth the lovely one, 
^Mid her gardens green — 

Wanders by the lonely shore — 

Pondering, looks the waters o'er. 

Still companion of her walk, 
Silent all his pleasing talk. 
Pondering too — but other ways. 
Faithful page, thy fancy strays : — 
Not the garden — not the sky — 
Not the great sea slumbering nigh. 

Suddenly from out the trees 
Darts a robber band — 

Swiftly bears them o'er the seas, 
Far from native land ! 



IVYWALL. 203 



Little now remains of joy: 

^' Hope V implores the smiling boy. 

Hope ! it was the spirit bright, 
Heart-guest^ in Despair's despite ; 
Hope ! that, as each morrow came, 
Fondly whispered one sweet name; 
Hope ! that by the stars and moon 
Whispered still : ' I come — and soon V 

Long to tell, nor need be told, 

How the gentle page 
'Mid the savage band grew bold. 

Saving from their rage — 
Terrible far more, their lust — 
Her who had no other trust. 

Long the story were to tell. 
How, when night and tempest fell. 
Safely from the wine-drugged band 
Went the captives, hand in hand, 
Hand in hand, with bending form. 
Lighted by the fitful storm ! 

Then upon the sea — and lo I 

Native land in sight, 
Grorgeous in the golden glow 

Of the sunset light ! 
Soft upon the tinted blue 
Rose the pillared walls to view ! 

' Home again ! Ah, but for thee. 
Home no more had been for me ! 



204 IVY WALL. 

What reward ' 

Thy love ! 

''T is thine r 
Thou art love ! To-day, be mine ! 
Hymen waits thy answer ! — ' Yes ; ' 
Tears, embrace, and kiss confess I 

Lovers' hope and dream of life, 

Every loving vow, 
Imaged Hymen — Hymen's wife — 

Love's ideal now ! 
Smiles and honors crowned their praise, 
Happiness their halcyon days ! 

Temples to another god. 
On the hills where Hymen trod — 
On the hills of distant lands ! — - 
Lovers, come ! and, taking hands, 
Give your heart- vow to his name : 
Joy to Hymen ! love and fame ! 



IVYWALL. 205 



[feom an unfinished tragedy.] 

Act I. Scene 2. Night. Library in the cottage of Milton. A casement open. 
The miisic of an organ is heard, from an inner apartment. Elizabeth discov- 
ered, listening. Music ceases. Enter Milton. 

Uliz. The daintiest music that I ever heard ! 
Why is it, father, that 't is new to me ? 
Mil. Because it came to-night from yon fair Moon ! 

Eliz. Only composed to-night ! 

Jill. A prelude, daughter; 

I trust a prelude to a happy strain, 
Which even now is murmuring at my heart. 
As yet, the hour is early : ere I sleep, 
I '11 write some rhyming words — two songs, mayhap ; 
And " L' Allegro'' shall be the name of one ; 
And of its shadow — what ? " II Penseroso." 

Uliz. Stories of Italy ? 

3Iil. But seeming so : 
The scene shall be in Eno-land. 



And part of it is round our own dear porch. 

Eliz. The vines, the little garden ? 

3IiL Yes, of those 

A loving word or two : the porch may be 
The frame-work of the picture. Something thus : 

" Through the sweet-brier, or the vine, 
Or the twisted eglantine" 

18 



206 IVYWALL. 

Eliz. I know it will be beautiful ! Your touch 
Can make our simple garden, Paradise ! 

Mil. {Aside.^ The garden — Paradise ! 

There is a thought in that ; it pleases me : 
Paradise Lost — a mournful, wondrous theme ! 
Yes, I will ponder it. 

Eliz. What think you, father ? 

Mil. Only of trifles, in the eyes of men. 
The age is stormed with troubles ! presently 
Shall peace return ; and then my lofty song, 
My universal song, shall win the world, 
Who will not let it die ! 

Eliz. His mind is crowded 

With its mysterious guests. I ever know 
When fancies press upon him. So, good night ! 
His magic wants no witnesses. Dear father, 
I go to do my copying : the task 
Is nearly finished. 

Mil. (^Abstractedly.^ Would to Heaven 'twere done I 

Eliz. I do my best — , 

Mil. Kight patiently and well. 

But not of that I spoke : not words, my daughter; 
The swiftly-coming future teems with deeds. 
And those, I fear, of blood ! 0, Liberty ! 
Is there no music welcome unto thee 
But sighs and groans and shrieks ! No offering 
But human hearts, piled, quivering, on thy altar ! 
Must thou behold the widow's agony ; 
The orphan's helplessness ; the death of pity ; 
Ere thou wilt smile to bless us ! 

Eliz. Speak not thus I 

Surely it is a dream ! England is safe ! 



IVYWALL. 207 

These sorrows are thin clouds ; the light shines throughj 
And brighter still, to chase them far away ! 

Mil. It may be, but mine eyes shall never see it ! 

Eliz. Why not ? Have patience yet a little while. 

MU. I shall not see it ! 

Eliz. Why, dear father, why ? 

Mil. Dost thou forget ? 

Eliz. Forget ?— 

Mil. There comes a darkness 

Over my eyes, at times, that, as I write, 
Changes the paper to a sombre gray. 
In which the words do fade, like stars at morning ! 

Eliz. My poor, dear father, wilt thou not, for me. 
For one who loves thee — yea ! with all her soul — • 
Wilt thou not rest ? Wilt not refrain these studies. 
That so devour thy sight ? 

Mil. There's one who urges me to constant toil, 
One whom I love even better than my daughter — 
England ! For her sake, grant me power, Heaven, 
"To labor on ! Like Sampson, blind yet strong, 
Let me defy the enemies of freedom. 
Hug the huge pillars of the tyrant's temple, 
And crush it to the earth — though I, too, perish ! 
Not for a day, not for a day, GrOD ! 
I work for centuries; and grope in darkness 
That light may shine for millions yet to be ! 

Eliz. The deed is grand. I almost worship that. 
But still I love my father, and would save him. 

Mil. Be brave, my child ; for kind thou ever wert, 
Obedient ever. Thy reward is sure. 
Remember, then, I, too, obey my Father ! 
Now to thy chamber ) write no more to-night : 



208 IVYWALL. 

And I will only wliisper to tlie Moon, 

An hour at most, then hie me to repose. 

Good night ! 

EKz. Grood night ! 

Mil. And in thy prayer — 

Eliz. As ever ! \_Exit,'] 

Milton crosses to the casement, and gazes upward. 

Mil. Beautiful light ! Beautiful lamp of Heaven ! 
What marvel that the heathen worshipped thee ? 
That from a thousand hills their altars sent 
The silvery smoke of adoration up ? 
Not knowing Him, the One, the Uncreate, 
What marvel thou shouldst seem a Deity, 
The first-born offspring of His. earliest gift, 
And blessed emanation from His glory ! — 
For I, His favored servant, strive in vain 
To wean my heart from thee ! Though, soon, no more 
Shall I behold thy spirit-soothing smile. 
A dread and everlasting midnight comes. 
What duty, then, remains ? Why, still to labor, 
That mental blindness follow not ! 

Enter Andrew. 

And. There be a man on the porch. 

Mil. Robber, or honest man ? 

And. Verily, he should be honest, for he looketh not 
like a Cavalier ; and his name is Cromwell. 

Mil. Why came he not in ? 

And. In good sooth, and of a verity, because I did not 
ask him; but rather did desire he should wait without. 



IVYWALL. 209 

till it should be plain unto me that you reclined not, even 
in the arms of Somebody. 

Mil. Somnus were mor^ correct. 

And. We live and learn ; yea, and verily do we learn 
more evil than good. For the times are full of wicked- 
ness, yea, and of abomination ; and the bishops persecute 
the people, and the King, like unto another Caesar, would 
grind the Parliament under his iron heel, but for such a 
friend of liberty, such a noble soldier of the Lord, as 
brave Master Cromwell 

Mil. Who waits in the chilly night ! 

And. I will go straightway, and admit that faithful 
servant 

Mil. As thou art one thyself. 

And. Yea, verily ! \_Exit.~\ 

Mil. His words are wrong, but those are from the lips. 
His life is right, and that is from the heart. 

Enter CromwelIi. 

Give you good evening, Cromwell. 

Crom. Master Milton, 

The Lord be over you ! 

Mil. I cry you pardon that you stood without. 

Crom. Nay, but a moment, with the pleasant moon — 
The only pleasant thing in England's night ! 
Nor, were there blame, were you the least to blame — 
And Andrew did his duty civilly. 
Ne'erless, there is a fault : and I cry pardon. 
Intruding on your studies. 

Mil. Of a truth, 

Good Cromwell, you are ever welcome here. 

Crom. I thought So, and I came : — especially — 

Mil. With news ? 
18* 



21U 




IVYWALL, 








* * 


* 


* 


* 


* 


^ 


* * 


* 


* 


* 


* 


* 


* * 


* 


* 


* 


* 


* 


3Iil But of the King? 








Crom. 




Ay, of the K 


ing! 


Well said ! 





Have I not told you horrors ? 

Mil. Too, too many ; 

Save that, at last, they may arouse our England ! 

Crom. They shall ! From Parliament I'll thunder them. 
Round all the sea-girt coast ! But what — what think you? 
What name for him who leads this mad rebellion ? 
'Tis England's King ! 

Mil. The King ? Can this be proved ? 

Crom. It can : and is ! 

Mil. Then is there cause to fear ! No life is safei 
Woe to the man who dares uplift his voice 
For England's Constitution and her Church 1 
But now we see our enemy. Forewarned, 
'Tis our own fault if not foreweaponed, too ! 

Crom. I watch for that ! 

With girded loins, and burning lamps, I watch ! 
And to this end now do I come to you. 
What of the youth, Ardenne ? 

Mil. Bight well of him. 

I kept my messenger on guard, who found him, 
To-day, the very hour of his arrival ; 
Grave him the letters — 

Crom. Answered he at all ? 

Mil. Bead the reply. (^Giving Cromwell a letter.^ 

Crom. (Reading ; and speaking aloud at times.^ 

We wrestled with the Lord ; 
Yea, with the Lord in prayer. I tell you truth. 



IVYWALL, 211 

I do profess; it came unto our minds 

As with an audible and potent voice : 

' Call to your aid tlie man — even the youth — 

Edgar Ardenne !' He answers : " Here am I !" 

Mil. 'Twas well our offer had no bribery in't, 
Nor aught of doubt, nor word of one condition I 
This do I know : he is a worshipper 
Of wisdom, truth, and liberty ! To these, 
Let him once see the way, he will not fail. 
Though at the price of all he holds most dear, 
To follow it ! 

Crom. Why came he not to-day ? 

3Iil I know not. Still 

There is good reason. He will surely come. 

Crom. I do begin to doubt him. Let him not, 
In promises, take Charles fpr an example — 
His Majesty, the Liar ! 

Mil. Be assured. 

Enter Ardenne. 

Ard. Milton! 

Mil. Ardenne ! Most welcome home ! My friend, 
Oliver CromwelL 

Ard. {Aside.) Mabel's prophecy ! 

(^To Cromwell.) Sir, I rejoice to meet you. I have heard, 
Even in a single day, my first in England, 
The story of your life. 

Crom. A simple story, 

Nor worth the telling. In the hands of Him, 
Whom I would serve, I am a blade of grass, 
But if it be His will to give me strength, 



212 IVYWALL, 

Yea, as tlie warrior's spear I may be strong, 
To do His Holy bidding, 

3111. (To Ard.) Troublous times 

Have darkened England, since I saw you last. 
That moonlight night, more beautiful than ours, 
Musing within the haunted Coliseum, 
Our pensiveness was for the glorious past, 
The old renown of Rome — not England's fall. 

Crom. The fall of England I 

Truly it will be so, unless her children 
Rise to the rescue ! England's fall — the World's! 
Religion, Freedom, have no home but here : 
If here they dwell not, they return to Heaven, 
And leave the race of man in deeper doom. 

Ard. The news to-day — it went in whispers by me — 
Can it be true — the King ? 

Mil. It is too true ! 

Crom. A damned crime I Too black to think upon ! 
A thousand hearts this day will blaze in England, 
At telling of the wrong ! A thousand arms 
Be ready to avenge it ! Insult, first. 
Then persecution, tyranny, and murder ! 
We have no laws, but by his high permission ; 
We have no liberty, save he may grant it ; 
We have no faith, but his, the Lord's Anointed ! 
We have — no English blood ! 

Ard. (^Aside.) 0, woe to me, 

That such things are : and Mabel, woe to thee ; 
Thou, in thy love, to deem thy love a traitor. 
To scorn his love, because he loves his honor ! 
And thou, old man, my poor heart-broken father. 
Deceived in all thy hopes, down to the grave 



IVYWALL. 'IVl 

Tottering with rapid steps, and leaving me 
Thy heritage, a curse ! 

3IiL Ardenne I 

Ard. I listen. 

Mil. Too much unto thyself: To England more! 
Cromwell ! 

Crom. Pardon me ; 

My thoughts were down at Huntingdon. 

Mil. Recall them. 

Crom. I try : they circle England ! Nowhere rest ! 

Mil. Band them with all the best of English thoughts, 
And so consult — decide ! To Liberty 
Be thou our Leader ! 

Crom. I, an humble man, 

The weakest of the servants of the Lord ! 

Ard. Let me be first to say: I follow Cromwell I 

Enter the Spirit. 

Crom. Beautiful ! Terrible I Thou comest again ! 
Why dost thou visit me ? 

Mil. (To Ard.) It is a mood 

That doth at times oppress him. In his youth 
Such seasons were. But this will pass anon. 

Ard. Look now ! As one that suffers agony, 
He battles with the unresisting air, 
Oazes on vacancy, and speaks to nothing. 

Mil. Disturb him not. 

Crom. O, answer, answer me ! 

It will not ! See ! it moves ! see ! see ! 'tis still ! 

(Grasping Milton.) I told you this had been, and you 
believed not ! 
Look for yourself I 'Tis there ! But no, no, no ; 



214 IVYWALL. 

It is not for the touch ! Could I but grasp it — 
I would compel reply : now I entreat ! 

Spirit. Cromwell ! 

Crom. A voice ! Or do I dream — 

Spirit. Hail, Cromwell 1 
A deed invites thee, and thou shalt not fail ! 
Cromwell, the first in England 

Crom. {Eagerly.^ Speak ! 

Spirit. All hail ! lExit Spirit.-] 

ft 

Clvaracters stand grouped.; as the curtain faUs, mysterious and distattt tri- 
umphant music. 

END OF ACT I. 



Note. — It was a common story among the contemporaries of Cromwell, even 
before his attainment of high military rank, that he had been awaked from his 
sleep, when a boy, by a shape, which told him he should be the greatest man in 
England ; but not using the word King^ 



SONNETS TO FRIENDS 



" These to the few, 
Who have been ministers of peace to me, 
Strength to my mind, and honey to my heart. 



IVYWALL. 217 



lei). |r. |ol]n €. Smitlj. 

Washington . 

To tliee, the friend of many days, I bring 
These tribute words, a full heart's offering, 
Less that the world may see how much I owe thee, 
More that the world may see thy merit more, 
And learn, through thee, thy Father to adore, 
His laws obeying. There are none below thee. 
For thou hast made them brothers ; none above, 
For what too high to comprehend in love ? 
Thy life is like a perfumed breeze, out-going 
From some delightful, flower-adorned land. 
With " healing on its wings," and blessings bland. 
Grateful and viewless in its ever-flowing. 
On Earth, what happy souls acknowledge thee 1 
In Heaven, what welcome shall thy presence be I 



19 



218 IVYWALL. 



II. 

PRESIDENT OF COLUMBIAN COLLEGE, WASHINGTON. 

Thou who hast grown upon our love through years, 

Whose smiles have ever added to our pleasure, 
Whose gentle voice hath soothed away our tears, 

Whose thoughtful mind enriched our own minds' treasure, 
And now who art, on yonder classic height. 

The guide of youth, companion, father, friend, 
Banding their hearts, that they in love unite. 

And learn that wisdom is a means, not end : 
To thee these words of gratitude belong. 

Part for myself, but more that thou art good, 
That in the world-war God hath made thee strong. 

And others, from thy deeds, have understood 
And done their own true duty. Thou hast trod 
The Holy Land of Earth : thou shalt tread that of God ! 



IVYWALL. 219 



III. 

Brother, indeed, tliou hast been in my joy, 

Brother, indeed, thou hast been in my sorrow, 
Proving such sympathy, while yet a boy. 

As gave sad token for some future morrow. 
Sad unto thee, perchance, but glad to others : 
The poet's tears baptize the world as brothers ! 
So, in thy manhood, often have I known 

Many with circling praise receive thy song, 
Undreaming it was built upon a moan. 

So weep the dewy stars- the chill night long, 
And when before the sun the dark is flown, 

The drops are diamonds ! Grrief, and pain, and wrong, 
Inspire the poet; and he sings, and dies. 
Despair not ! Love is Queen, though crowned but in the 
skies ! 



220 IVYWALL. 



IV. 

Murdoch, thy live rendition of the ages 
Night after night have I with profit known, 

Watching how love-thought o'er the poet's pages 
Had made each treasure-bearing word thy own. 
The poet was the harp, whose native tone 

Thine was the grace to give the world again : 

And never didst thou seek, as many vain. 
The Actor's glory to present alone. 

Thou wast content to be reflected light. 
Like yonder half-retiring western star. 
Winning the wondering looks of men afar, 

Who, dazzled, could not reach the Day-God's height. 

Yet, when thy transient borrowed sheen was done, 

I thought not of the Star, for Murdoch was the Sun ! 



IVVWALL. 221 



SCULPTOK, 

Thou, when in prison gloom for Liberty, 

Nature denied, wast visited by Art, 

Who gave siicli light and gladness to thy heart. 
In thy soul's freedom seemed thy body free ! 
In after years, when Poland was no more, 
Camest thou, an Exile, to our happy shore, 
x\nd woke to see all realized the dream 

Thou wouldst have realized for native land ; 
And freedom then was dearest, till a theme, 

Yet dearer. Love taught, and enchained thy hand 
In flowery bondage. That a day should beam 

So fair — so fleeting ! Now thy household band 
Hath home in Heaven : yet also on the Earth : 
Thine art, informing stone, hath eternized their worth ! 

* J. H. D. Saunders. 



19* 



222 IVYWALL. 



VL , 

Lover of Erin, banished from her breast, 
What clime, however fair, shall give thee rest ? 
And yet no maddened wanderer wilt thou go, 

Crying aloud against unpitying Fate, 
For thou lovest wisely, not like Romeo, 

And with resolved heart wilt watch and wait. 
Thy Juliet sleeps, but not the sleep of death — 
And there is magic in thy true lips' breath ! 
They knew it well, who banished thee afar, 

And changed from isle to isle thy prison doom, 
And were too weak to hold thee ! Lo ! the bar. 

Torn from thy dungeon — and the ponderous tomb 
Shudders at every shock ! Thy Juliet hears ! 
She lives ! She shall be thine through many glorious years ! 



IVYWALL. 223 



VII. 

Bold in tlie right, and beautiful as bold, 

Stands forth thy soul before the world's proud eyes ; 
To Grods and Men thy golden truths are told, 

Like sunbeams piercing through the clouds' disguise, 
Defiant of their storm, and still more bright 
For all the foldings of their thunderous night. 
Not one art thou, an April bard, to rain 

A few weak drops upon the thirsting earth, 
Then with a smile, unfeeling, fickle, vain. 
Come gaily forth to take thy gift again. 

And kill the flowers just struggling into birth. 
No ! as a tempest, gathering o'er the main. 
Thou hurlest from the rock strong Error's towers ; 
And Truth her temple builds, 'mid amaranthine bowers ! 



224 IVYWALL. 



VIII. 

John the Divisible : for thou art many, 

Yet, like our Union, one. Where wit is found, 
No brighter word than thine goes laughing round ; 

Thy song, or gay or sad, is sweet as any; 

Thy story moves to tears of grief or gladness ; 
Thy poesie is from the heart's deep mine. 

Dewy with morning, tinged with twilight sadness, 
Smiling and weeping — all the world's — and thine. 

When '' Waiting for a Wife'^ is on the stage. 
Merriment's music rings from heart to heart -, 
When " Sybil," victim of a traitor's art, 

From soul to soul runs the electric rage. 

Thus art thou many — each entire — all one : 

By many loved for each — my love excluding none ! 



IVYWALL. 225 



IX. 

Ever will I remember with delight 

vStrawberry Knoll; not for the berries red, 
As, ere my time, the vines were out of bed, 

And gone ; but many a day and many a night 

Have given me argument to love it well. 

Whether in Summer, 'neath its perfumed shade, 
Whether by moonlight's magic wand arrciyed, 

Or when in Winter's lap the rose-leaves fell. 

For pleasant faces ever there were found, 
For genial welcome ever met me there, 

And thou, my friend, when Thought went smiling round, 
Madest her calm look, reflecting thine, more fair. 

Those who have known thee as a Statesman, know 

Thy noon-day : I have felt thy great heart's sunset glow ! 



226 ' IVYWALL. 



CM 



X. 

Friend of my father, ere my life began ; 

My friend, from playful Youth to pensive Man ; 

Though now the white hairs gather on my head, 

Though now my winter days are coming fast, 
Still, with a mingled feeling, love and dread, 

Do I approach thee, as in years far passed : 
No less to-day thy kindness is than then, 
And more of honors hast thou won from men. 
Won worthily. They knew, in honoring thee, 

From the rich circlet of their gift would flow 

Unwonted beauty, and a kindling glow, 
To cheer and guide them. Such is Heaven's decree 
Whom good men seek, from self-selected shade, 
Their trust, his truth, shall many times be paid ! 



IVYWALL. 227 



XI. 

INAUGURATION OF HIS EQUESTRIAN STATUE OF -WASHINGTON, FEBRUARY 22d, 1860. 

To-day I stood beside tliee, when the crowd 
Sent to the heavens their acckmations proud, 
Echoed by cannon, and in martial strains 

Of music fading. For, in sunset's glow, 

That moment AYashington appeared ! I know 
What strong joy leaped through all thy burning veins ! 
Even in my own was scarce a feebler joy, 
Thy task well done, which Time can not destroy ! 
What need hast thou for measured words like mine ? 

In two heroic forms thou speakest ever ! 
Let me in friendship link my name with thine, 

Thine of a chain no power of Earth can sever I 
If not of fame, I have such claim of thee : 
I sought to cheer thy gloom ; thy gladness share with me 



228 IVYWALL. 



XII. 

Among my friends^ is one, most dear of all, 
With many love-names. I can scarce recall 
My life beyond the time when her I found ; 

My life, before that happy day, was dark ; 
Some timid joy across my path would bound, 

As a swift deer, which, ere the eye can mark 
Its form distinctly, is not ! And the gloom 
That filled the forest deepens like a tomb ! 
But she, she has lingered at my side. 

And from her delicate and loving heart 
A light, a constant light, has been my guide, 

Chasing all fearful shadows far apart. 
jMany the blessings God has given to me : 
He crowned them all, dear Maye, in giving thee ! 



THE 



GOLDSMITH OF PADUA 



E I9rama, itt ^\)uz ^tts. 



20 



-TO 

C. W. TAYLEUEE, Esq., 

DIRECTOR OF THE WASHINGTON THEATRE, UNDER WHOSE AUSPICES IT WAS 

FIRST ACTED, 



(( 



THE GOLDSMITH OF PADUA" 



WITH ADMIRATION FOR HIS TALENTS AS A DRAMATIC AUTHOR, AND 
RESPECT FOR HIS CHARACTER AS A MAN. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



[as originally produced at the WASHINGTON THEATRE, NOVEMBER 8, 1858.] 



Vincenti Mr. H. F. Daly. 

Guisseppe Mr. Forrester. 

Grumio Mr. J. M. Dawson. 

Count Ferando Mr. J. Harrison. 

The Judge Mr. M. Lanagan. 

Tranio Mr. J. M. Barron. 

Jeronimo Mr. T. S. Holland. 

Beppo Mr. J, Whiting. 

Cosmo , Mr. Lewis. 

Jacoho Mr. Ward. 

Bianca, Miss J. Parker. 

Mna Mrs. C. W. Tayleure. 

Florio, a Page Mrs. Proctor. 

Lords and Ladies, Officer of the Court of Justice, Citizens, ^c. 

Time : End of the Fifteenth Century. 

Scene : Padua. 



20* 



THE GOLDSMITH OF PADUA. 



■ ■ < • ¥ ■ ■ 



ACT L 

fiCENE I.— ^ street. Enter Jacobo. 

Jac. There be some men wlio talk of hearts ! In sooth, 
I understand them not : but this I know — 
Such men are always poor ! I 'd rather own 
A thousand ducats than a thousand hearts, 
With all their lofty words of truth and honor ! 
Their lofty words no eloquence possess 
Like these — which move all hearts, and heads, and hands ! 

{Shoiving a purse of gold.) 
Seignior Vincenti 

Is thus the greatest orator of Padua ! 
But who comes yonder ? Grazing up and down, 
Like some poor fellow from the untaught fields. 
First visiting the city ! How he stares ! 

Enter Tkanio. 

Tra. Wonderful ! splendid ! 
Jac. Ha ! I know the lad : 

Wild as the woods he left ! 

Tra. A glorious palace ! 



236 IVYWALL, 

Jac. Tranio ! 

Tra. Who calls ? 

Jac. Do you not see ? 

Tra. Why — yes — Jacobo ? Is it so, indeed ? 
I thought you many a league away ! 

Jac. No doubt : 

And just as well I might have been, good Tranio, 
For all the use your eyes were ! 

Tra. Pardon me. 

I only came to Padua to-day ; 
And yonder palace did, in truth, surprise me. 
Who dwells there ? 

Jac. Seignior Yincenti. 

Tra. What a noble Prince I 

Jac. Only a Goldsmith. 

Tra. Ha ! 

Jac. A wealthy one, 
Surpassing princes ; and, if they be German 

Tra. (^Imitating him.) ''• If they be German ^' 

Jac. Quite rich enough to make a score of them ! 
Daily come travelers, with coin to change, 
Piling his coffers till they overflow ! 
Few die, relationless, but he 's executor. 
Many pay tribute to his wealth and fame. 
By leaving him their heir. The city gives him 
All public contracts. He is almost sunk 
Beneath the weight of trusts and offices, 
Not merely offered, but imposed upon him ! 

Tra. Now, by Saint Paul ! the happiest man alive ! 
Can such things be ? 

Jac. All true. My lord, Guisseppe, 



GOLDSMITH OF PADUA. 237 

A mercliant here, hath many dealings with him. 
Guisseppe's clerk should, therefore, know the Goldsmith. 

Tra. A clerk ! 
How is it, if I ask your aid, Jacobo ? 
My lot is such I'd willingly exchange it. 
And hardly fear a worse one. 

Jac. I know a place that will precisely suit : 
And I've no wit or you've the place to-day. 

Tra. Thanks, thanks, my friend ! 

Jac. We'll talk more privately of these affairs. 

\_Exeunt.~\ 

Scene II. — Garden of VincenWs Palace. Enter Feeando and Bianca, folloivcd 

hy Nina, wlio is gathering flowers. 

Fer. (^Aside.') I would speak, and I cannot. Strange, 
that Love, 
In his first coming but a feeble boy. 
Yet when he lays his finger on the heart — 

such a weight is there, it scarce can move, 
And the late voluble, imperious lips. 

Like timid slaves, do closely cling together. 
Silent and motionless. 

Bian. {Smiling.') A pleasant evening. 

Fer. Yes — terrible, Bianca : — that is — pleasant. 

Bian. Why, what's the matter ? 

Fer. Nothing. Did I speak ? 

Bian. Surely; and still said — nothing. 'Tis the fashion; 
But as so much of it is offered me, 

1 weary of it ; Yesterday, to-day. 
To-morrow, and for many a day to come. 

Has been, and is, and will be, nothing — nothing. 
Nothing has many ways of saying nothing : 



238 IVYWALL. 

Last night, he told me, at Gruisseppe's villa, 
That Homer, could he visit earth once more. 
Indeed would paint a Venus I That was nothing. 
And at another time he said my robe 
Was like a silvery cloud, and I the moon. 
That gave it radiance ! That again was nothing. 
And nothing talks of blushes, lips, and eyes. 
And sometimes writes me sonnets, sings me songs, 
Taking much trouble — also taking cold — 
To tell the deaf night, 'neath my balcony, 
That nothing has a heart ! 

Fer. So fair and cruel ! 

Bian. Well done. Sir Count ! A good exordium : 
On with the speech ! ^T is the true tone of nothing ! 

Fer. Thou art too light, Bianca. 'Neath the leaf. 
The frail and fluttering leaf, the rich fruit lies : 
The royal heart beneath a poor disguise. 

Bian. Nay, if thou bringest rhyme, I fly at once. 
'T is the bad spirit hath tormented me ; 
I cannot bear his buzzing. (^Going.) 

Fer. Stay and listen. 

Bian. To loves and doves, and hearts and darts ? 

Fer. (^Impressively.') Bianca I 

Listen to truth, of which these rhymes are symbols, 
Often ill-used, by vanity and folly; 
But, dear Bianca 

Bia7i. (^Aside.y " Z^ear Bianca ! " 

Nina. (^Listening, aside.) " Dear ! " 

Fer. I have to-day few words of any kind. 
And even many, of the best, were useless : 
I can but say : I love thee ! 

Nina. ^' Love ! " I knew it ! 

O Grumio ! Grumio ! only say "^ I love thee 1 " 



GOLDSMITH OF PADUA. 239 

Fei\ Dearest girl ! 
I am not one to swear by all the saints^ 
And Cupid chief, how wondrously I love thee ; 
To sigh, to weep, to fall upon my knees, 
As to a goddess : no ! I am a man. 
Feeling man's native dignity — and thou 
Art but a woman — a true, noble woman — 
Worthy a man's best love. Nature and fortune 
Both have done much for thee. Thy beauty, sweet. 
Would win the worldling : though I prize it, too, 
'T is as a picture of the angel soul : 
And, for the splendor of thy life's estate. 
The golden frame that bounds the charming picture, 
I own it is not valueless, but still 
Only thyself I love ] and here, in proof. 
All that is good, faithful, and fond in me, 
I dedicate to thy superior merit, 
Now and forever ! 

Bian. Dost thou love me, then ? 

Fer. Dost doubt me ? 

Bian. Doubt ? I only doubt myself, 

As worthy of such love : — for such I prize. 
Beyond all beauty, all the world can give, 
As Heaven's divinest boon ! 

Fer. To Heaven the praise ! 

So shall our lives go smiling through the vale. 
Cheering its shadows with a sacred light. 
And hand in hand climb the Eternal Height ! 

(il/MS2c witJiin.^ 
What means this music ? 

Bian. ^T is a preparation — 
A certain festival — an anniversary 



240 IVYWALL. 

Fer. Thine own — tliy birth-night. 

Bian. Marvelous memory I 

Fer. No marvel, love, that Memory should pale 
Before the light of Hope ! — 

I will attend thee, 
But here \Jiis heart] is such a festival, Bianca, 
With angel guests, with whisperings, with music, 
All so ecstatic, that I fear me still 
I shall forget myself, and wandering go. 
Like a poor ghost, through good Yincenti's halls. 

Bian. Poor ghost : /shall be there ! 

Fer. And here! \Jiis heart.] 

Two festivals at once : — 
But this the better and the dearer one ! 
Then, for awhile, farewell ! Our contract, sweet, 

{Enter Jeronimo, hack.} 
Is yet deficient 

Bian. Wanting what ? 

Fer. (^Kisses her.) 'T is perfect ! 

Jer. A kiss ! (Aside.) (Exit Ferando.) 

Bian. Delightful, too : Love flies, nor looks before ; 
I see my nither : Yes, there 's something more ! 

(Going. Jeronimo advances.) 
Another troublesome nothing ! (Aside.) 

Jer. Lady fair, 

Pardon whatever in my speech seems rude. 
And in thy mirror see my argument, 

As in my heart — thy loveliness. hear me, (Kneels.) 
Though I am low, and dignity is thine, 
May love not raise me ? (Aside) — to a golden power ! — 
Answer, and bless me with thy answer, lady, 
And thy devoted .slave I am forever ! 



GOLDSMITH OF PADUA. 241 

Bian. Rise. I do not seek a slave ! A mau 
Should be a free man ! (^Aside.') What a love is this ! 
Itself disgraced, and would disgrace a woman ! 

Jer. I cannot rise, till in a gentler tone 
Thou bid^st me. 

Bian. Then forever rest thee there ! 

Thy body's attitude becomes thy mind, 
Stooping to degradation ! Gro, sir, go ! 

Jer. (^Rising and grasping Tier arm.^ Not till I have 
my answer ! 

(BiANCA screams. Jeronibio releases her, and is retreating, when he meets Nina.) 

Nina. Why, what's the matter ? Is my lady harmed ? 

Jer. Not in the least. It was a snake in the grass. 

Bian. {Aside.) 'Twas truly so. Nina, my dear, His 
well. 
Are all things ready for the festival ? 
See ! Yonder comes the moon. 

JVina. To light the guests. 

All things are ready. 

Bian. So : I must receive them. 

Come, Nina. [^Exeunt.'] 

Jer. Scorned — insulted ! No hope there ! 

But gold and beauty still are worth the wooing. 
She knows me not, but, by the Saints, she shall ! 
Wake, plotting devils of the heart and brain ; 
Quick to the task ! Short time, and much to gain ! 

\_Fxit.'] 



21 



242 IVYWALL. 

Scene III. — Night. A grand apartment in the. Palace of Vincenti. Vincenti 
seated at a table, on which his head rests ; he sleeps. Gay music heard at a dis- 
tance. Presently, he starts, raises 7iis hands on high, then, gradually, lowers 
them. 

Vin. ^Twas but a dream ! Methouglit tlie olden fable 
Of Jupiter was acted o'er again : 
The heavens did open, and a shower of gold 
Descended on me I 'Twas a silly dream — 
Yet wondrous sweet ! My daughter's festival, 
Her eighteenth birth-day. Rank, and wealth, and beauty, 
The proudest, fairest of all Italy, 
Come thronging now, with only one ambition : 
To please the Goldsmith ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! Vincenti, 
^Tis thus thine industry, thy skill in trade, 
Thy careful application, are rewarded ! 
Others must thank their ancestors, but thou — 
Only thyself ! It is alone thy merit ! 

( Walks the apartment proudly.^ 

Enter Jeronimo. 

Vin. What would Jeronimo ? 

Jer. I scarcely know — 

I cannot speak my thought — but strangely now, 
Amid the splendor of thy entertainment, 
I think — thy bounty, raising me from earth. 
Hath filled my heart with gratitude, encouraged 
My spirit even to imitate thine own. 
Humbly and distantly, for who may stand. 
Seignior, on such an eminence as thou I 

Vin. If thus I stand, 'twas toil that gained the place, 
The toil, Jeronimo, of many years. 
And who shall say I have not well deserved ! 



GOLDSxAIITH OF PADUA. 243 

Jer. All this, and more ! Thy present honored guests 
Declare as much, and prophesy the future. 
pride ! how weak and easily-pleased is pride ! (4siWe.) 

Yin. Prosperity, which makes so many blind. 
Gives me new power of sight. I look afar, 
Mine eyes surveying many a foreign shore, 
Tracing most secret causes, thence deducing 
Wealth and renown for Padua. Then I see 
Also the merit of my faithful clerk : 
Much hast thou done, Jeronimo ! 

Jer. And thou. 

Thou hast done all for me. 

Yin. But little yet : 

More shall I do anon. 

Jer. My humble thanks ! 

Yin. What can I, even now ? 

Jer. All men have dreams. 

And many dream such grand and happy things 
As Earth, perchance, may never realize. 
For me : Angelic visions visit me. 
Not only in the night, but all day long ; 
Making the world so sweet and beautiful — 
All flowers — all music — all — an idle dream ! 
For then I wake, to scorn my silly self. 
That thus am fancy's fool ! 

Yin. Thou art in love ! 

Jer. And hopeless ! 

Yin. Then it is the &tar of Venus, 

And not herself thou lovest ! 

Jer. 'Tis a maid. 

Yin. Of human form and blood ? 

Jer. Human and heavenly ! 



244 IVYWALL. 

Vin. And canst not win her ? Why, thou art a man : 
Well-featured, with a quick, expressive eye ; 
Gray-rob 3d; and young: and with a low-toned voice, 
To steal into the heart ! And canst not win her ? 
What, then, is wanting ? Gold ? I ^11 give it thee ! 
She shall be thine ! 

Je7\ Thou hast, indeed, the power. 

Vin. Good ! Have I so ? I ^11 see what mortal maid, 
Or mortal man, will dare gainsay Vincenti ! 
Methinks I Jiave observed thy moody looks. 
Yes, for a month past. Ha ! that love ! love ! love ! 

Jer. A dainty damsel, and a rich old father ! (^Aside.) 

Vin. But tell me now her name ! 

Jer. Thy kindness, Seignior, 

Imboldens me to speak : It is Bianca. 

Vin. The name my daughter bears. 

Jer. It is — thy daughter. 

Vin. My daughter ! Hast thou spoken this to her ? 

Jer. I have. 

Vin. Her answer ? 

Jer. Not a loving one ; 

But still 

Vin. No more ! Thou mean and cringing dog ! 
I found thee, beggared, in the filthy street, 
I fed and clothed thee, when thy drunken father 
Went reeling 'mid the pointing, laughing crowd ; 
When she who gave thee birth forsook her cub. 
And sold her fame to midnight revellers ! 
I took thee home, and sought to raise thy life 
Above its destiny : All this for pity ! 
What insolent presumption ! Hence ! Begone ! 

Jer. 1 go. But lofty heads perchance may fall ! 

[^Aside. Exit.'] 



GOLDSMITH OF PADUA. 245 

ViNCENTi, after walking the apartment angrily, sits down, and becomes more calm. 

Enter Ferando and Bianca. 

Bian. Father, we miss thy kindly smile, to cheer us 
Amid the dance. Art weary of our mirth ? 

Vin. No, my dear child. The crowd, the sultry eve, 
Awhile oppressed me, so I sought the breeze 
That plays around our balcony ; and then 
Came here to rest, where slumber stole upon me. 
But I '11 return. 

Fer. The smiling presence of a generous host 
Makes doubly glad the bosoms of his guests. 
In truth, good Seignior, pleasure fast was ebbing. 
As, one by one, the noble company 
Spoke of Vincenti absent, asking each : 
'' Why lingers he ? " 

Vin. I thank them all ; and now 

Fer. Pardon a moment, Seignior. May I hope 
An opportunity to speak with thee 
Of that which moves me deeply 

Vin. Certainly : 

I '11 hear thee now, with pleasure. 

Bian. I '11 retire. 

Fer. No. Pray remain, Bianca. 
Seignior Vincenti, I would speak of her. 
With all sincerity, I love thy daughter. 
Have told her of my love, and she 

Vin. Bianca ? 

Bian. Forgive me, father, if 

Vin. Thy heart was stolen, 

And I not warned to watch it ? Ha ! I see ! 
[To Ferando.'] I do approve thee, having known thy truth, 
Having observed Bianca's preference. 
21* 



246 IVYWALL. 

One reservation must I make withal : 
That yet ye tarry but a few weeks more, 
A month or so, then have ye full consent. 

Fer. Seignior, my heart's best gratitude and duty ! 

Bian. Father, thou knowest mine were always given : 
They shall continue. Life hath been to me 
A glittering dream ! (^Aside.) I wake in Paradise ! 

Yin. Thy happiness is still mine own, my child. 
And now the reason that I ask delay : 
My brother comes anon to Padua ] 
I wish him present. 

Fer. Willingly we wait. 

Vin. Doubtful, for Love but illy brooks the curb ! 

(^ Aside.) 
Ye cunning little imps ! And thought ye, then, 
I could not see ? That all this mighty work 
Went on in darkness? No, no, noj Vincenti 
Hath eyes — ^believe it ! Even hath a heart 
Not yet too cold for love ! Nay, do not smile ! 
I go no more a-wooing ! Padua 
Shall be my only mistress f I will crown her 
Empress of Italy ! I ^m busy ! busy ! — 
And love, they say, thrives best in idleness ! — 
Let us go in : — ^but see, our friends are here ! 

Enter the Company. 

And sunshine with them ! Music once again ! (^Music.) 
A moving melody : What think ye, friends ? 
These snows are light : even I can tread a measure. 

[^Exeunt."] 



GOLDSMITH OF PADUA. 247 



ACT II. 

Scene I. — A street. Enter Jacobo and Tranio. 

Tra. Friendship is true : perhaps there 's truth in love ! 
I 've only spent three days in Padua, 
Yet am I well provided for already ! 
A place that suits my talent, fills my wish ! 
Jac. My rich reward is — Tranio is content ! 
Tra. You shall have, other. Friendship is so rare 
In this cold world of ours ; 
It should not go without its proper meed, 
The ardent words of gratitude, that all 
May see its beauty, learn to imitate ! 
Jac. No more of this, my friend : 
?[ only did what you would do for me. 

Tra. I would so, truly. See, we come again 
Before Vincenti's dwelling. I have thought. 
Over and over, what a happy man ! 
Jac. He is not happy now I 
Tra. And why? 

Jac. A changre 

Has fallen on him ; why, in sooth, I know not : 
But this I know : When yesterday I called. 
On business from Gruisseppe, round the door 
Were five or six who waited. 
They spoke severely of Vincenti, one 
With threats of law : 
Another, that he would recall his trust 



248 IVYWALL. 

Immediately, and claim a full account. 

As yet, my lord Gruisseppe doubts him not. 

To me the whole affair is mystery. 

But yonder comes he now. Is that man happy ? 

( They retire hack the stage.^ 

Enter Vincenti, slowly and musingly. 

Vin. Am I not rich as ever ? Who can say 
I have defrauded him ? Not one ! Do any 
Demand their payment twice of me ? Not one ! 
What, then, can he the cause ? I walk the street, 
And those who nearly kissed the ground before, 
Now stare me in the face, and proudly pass ! 
The noble guests whom late I entertained. 
Strangely forget me now ! Have I the plague ? 
Is all my house infected, that they shun me ? 
The office of the Treasury of Padua, 
For which I stood the first in nomination, 
Is given to a man less rich by thousands ! 
What is the cause ? Shall I be ruined thus, 
Nor know the reason ? (Reflects.) 

Jac. Do you envy him ? 

Tra. I pity ! 

EnUr GuissEPPE. 

Guis. Seignior, I grieve to see thee looking sad : 
Art thou not well ? 

Yin. Yes, well : If health be all ! 

Guis. Be of good cheer ! These idle clouds will pass. 
And now, if not upon thy private thoughts 
Too much intruding, wilt thou grant me leave 
To ask a favor of thee ? 



GOLDSMITH OF PADUA. 249 

Vin. Speak. I listen. 

Favor of him whom all the world doth shuu. (^Adde.~) 

Guis. {Aside.) I'll prove this wide report, if true or 
false. 
Can it be possible Vincenti should 
Forget himself ? 

Seignior Vincenti, for a certain purpose, 
I'd place a hundred ducats in thy charge. 
I've entered lately in a speculation 
Of great extent, and how it may result 
Can no one tell. In case of failure, then, 
I would retain this sum. Wilt keep it for me ? 

[^Presenting a hag of gold.'] 

Yin. Right willingly ! 

Guis. And now I take my leave. 
My time hath many claimants. When again 
We meet, good Seignior, may I find thee cheerful ! 
Of this I'm certain : I shall find him honest. \_Aside. Exit.'] 

Vin. Well, all is not so dark as I supposed : 
Here's one friend left ! Philosophers declare 
That he's a happy man who's sure of one ! [Exit.] 

(Jacobo and Tbanio advance.) 

Tra. And this is all you know ? 

Jac. But this alone. 

Tra. 'Tis very strange ! 

Jac. Yet hither comes a man 

Will tell us more, if more there be, or not. 
A busy, prying one is Grumio ; 
Endowed with l^aix-like properties, to find 
The smallest secret, or, grimalkin-like, 
See clearest in the dark. 



250 IVYWALL. 

Enter Grumio, hurriedly, hearing a burden. 

Gru. 0, gentlemeu ! the most wonderful — Your servant, 
sir. 

(^To Tranio. They how.) The most wonderful things 
are about town — 

Jac. What — what ? A crowd of Grrumios ? 

Gru. Dromedaries ! {In a vexed tone.) 

Jac. They bear a burden, too, upon the back, 
But, as they bear it willingly — good lack ! 
It were not well to call them Grumios. 

Gru. Have out your wit : 'Tis seldom out. Heaven knows ! 

Jac. And that's because 'tis delicate ! 

Gru. No doubt ! 

I fear, too much so : Pray don't let it out ! 

Jac. True, it were quite as well to keep it home : 
'Tv/ould not find yours, even if it went to E-ome. 

Gru. Mine stays in Padua — good reason, that ! 
For where the cream is, there will be the cat ! 

Tra. Have done ! have done ! 

Jac. Well, Grrumio, v^^hat's the news ? 

Gru. Most wonderful ! First a whisper came up, just 
like a breeze, then it went on, and on, till it grew a storm, 
and everybody was howling : " Vincenti ! the rich Grold- 
smith !" 

Jac. What of him ? 

Gru. Are you deaf? 

Jac. No, but in Grrumio's company there's danger ! 

Gru. Then you have not heard it ! How the Old Gold- 
smith is said to be a coiner of base money ! And truly 
so, say I. For isn't he our best workman in gold and 
silver ? And surely he wouldn't let his talent rust ? No, 
but use it to some purpose. 



GOLDSMITH OF PADUA. 251 

Jac. Sj^eak not too fast ! I've always held Vincent! 
Honest as any man in Padua. 

Gru. And I the same, i'faith, till now. But do you see 
this ducat? (^Showing a ducat.) 

Jac. YeSj and it is a good one. 

Gru. Only copper and silver ! the scoundrel ! 
the cheat! And many are about, just like it: all from 
Vincenti ! the villain ! That's the way men live in tall 
palaces, and dress finely, i'faith, and brave it through the 
land ! But " pride goeth before destruction !" Down 
with the cheat ! A copper ducat ! 

Jac. Still, this is not enough to prove him guilty : 
He gave the coin — but did he know Hwcas base I 

Gru. A Goldsmith, too ! I'll not believe such nonsense ! 
A villain, again say I ! and let him suffer for it ! But 
here am I, chatting, and our Captain will away in his ship ! 
Hold your breath awhile longer, good wind ! Addio ! 

\_Exit, in hasfe.Ji 

Jac. A busy rogue, yet lazy one, withal. 
And, now I think of it, I'm something like him ^ 
For much have I to do, and still neglect it. 

Tra. How many love to see a lofty name 
Brought down, dishonored, to their own vile level ! 
To tear, with harpy claws, a character * 
Which late they praised — 

Jac. No sermons : 

You are not paid for those ! I must away. 

T'ra. And truly so must I ; in this direction. 

[_Exeinit, diJ^t-rchi/^.J 



252 lYYWALL. 

Scene IT. — The garden. Bimcxand Vincenti discovered in the distance, seated. 

Bian. Father, thy brow is burning. Walk with me, 

{They advance.^ 
And the cool evening breeze will bring thee peace ! 
See how the sun, beyond the purple hills, 
Groes down in glory ! See his parting smile 
On the tall trees, which fondly wave farewell ! 
And, on the church-tower, rising from the vale. 
The only bright thing now amid the shadows. 
How blessed is that ray ! The true, good man 
Thus stands sublime in brilliancy, and points 
Calmly to Heaven, when Earth around grows dark I 

Vin. Beautiful Nature ! Comforter and friend. 
When men deceive and fail us ! 

Bia7i. Mark, again. 

Dear father, how the ivy climbs the tower. 
Embracing it so lovingly, and struggling 
Upward, still upward, with a proud affection, 
Till both together share the sacred light. 
And smile upon the gloom below ! 

Vin. I see ! 

My own Bianca, thus art thou ! My ivy. 
And must the storm soon tear thee from thy trust, 
Strewn wild and withering, and I, alone. 
Hopeless, to battle with a world of wrath ! 
What have I done ? Why falls the cloud on me ? 

Bian. Whatever strange mistake hath gone abroad, 
Whatever ill may happen thee — I stand 
Thy daughter still ! ready, yea proud, to bear 
The burden with thee ! Thou hast thought me weak — 
Behold how strong a thing a daughter's love ! 



GOLDSMITH OF PADUA. 25o 

I will do all : and from the peaceful sky 

My motlier's spirit shall look down, and aid me ! 

Vin. (^Emhracing her.^ My dear, dear child ! But do 
not weep ! I feel 
Courage and hope ! sorrow ! blessed sorrow ! 
For teaching me such happiness of love ! 

Enter Guisseppe. Bianca retires to the seat. 

Guis. My friend, how fortunate to find thee home ! 
The ducats which I gave thee recently, 
A sudden want requires of me again. 
I would not trouble thee so soon, but I 

Vin. A grave apology for such a trifle ! 
The money is thine own. My private drawer 
Contains it, as I placed it there, unopened. 
Seignior, thou 'It always find mg at thy service. 

Guis. It ever has been so. My thanks, Yincenti, 
And equal offer. 

Yin. Let us, then, go in. 

I '11 render thee thy ducats. Come, Bianca ; 
The evening grows too late : the dew is falling. 

\_Exeiint.'] 

Enter Nina, hack. 

Nina. There 's my master : he will sit, all alone, for 
hours, in one of the great chairs, with his hand so : 
(^placing hers in a pensive manner :^ frowning; sometimes 
with closed eyes. Then will he start up, and stare, as if 
he saw a ghost : and next, off he strides, from one end of the 
room to the other, faster than my messenger, Grumio, ever 
went ! There 's my lady: she goes about crying, and takes 
up this, and that, and puts it down again, and acts like a 
22 



254 IVYWALL. 

mad girl ! — except when she meets her father, Mercy 
upon my life ! what does it all mean ! And they such 
merry folks awhile ago ! (Enter Grumio, stealing vp be- 
hind her?) If it was n't for 

Gru. Me ? What then ? 

Nina. Master Impertinence ! 

Gru. Who iDouldnH be, seeing such pretty fruit in a 
garden? (^Touching her cheeh^ 'playfully?) 

Nina. Forbidden fruit ! 

Gru. All the sweeter for that ! The kind I like best ! 
NoWj now, Nina; you don't mean it, though? Say you 
don't? 

Nina. {Turning away?) Not I ! 

Gru. Well, I thought so ! You 've told me many a 
time you loved me ? Ha ? 

Nina. My note-book 's lost : I can't remember it. 

Gru. I '11 be your note-book. Let me see : what was 
the last entry ? Sunday, as you were coming from Mass. 
Then up walked I, in my new doublet, and said : "A sweet 
morning, sweet one !" 

Nina. And I said : " Yes, Master Grumio." A great 
record, that, for your note-book ! How it will astonish 
the world, some day ! 

Gru. Don't stop so short ! Was there nothing else ? 
Shall I read on ? 

Nina. As you please. 

Gru. So be it ! 0, I think of something now ! 

Nina. Indeed ! 

Gru. Has y incenti paid you, this quarter ? 

Nina. What impudence I Who made you Lord of the 
Treasury ? 

G7'u. I ask for a reason ; a good reason, dear. We are 
all the same as one, you know. Any ducats ? 



GOLDSMITH OP PADUA. 255 

Nina. (^Aside.") What can the man want ? Some wild 
frolic, perhaps ? He spends too much that way. Well ; 
I answer, for a good reason, too : that I '11 not answer ! 
But, hark ye, Grumio ! there 's wine 

Gru. Dearest ! 

Nina. (^Aside.) I knew it ! And if you '11 come in with 
me : softly,- now ; softly ; I '11 

Gru. What an obedient husband I '11 be ! Never the 
like on 't ! Dearest ! 

(^Looking fondly at her, smacking Ms lips.) 

Nina. Come. 

Gru. (^Starting, then stops, takes her hand, and looks 
mysteriously^ Noticed anything strange ? 

Nina. Where ? 

Gru. In the palace. 

Nina. Why? 

Gru. Dear little dove ! I '11 tell you such a story -, such 
a story ! 

Nina. Nothing strange in that, for you ! 

Gru. But it 's all true. 

Nina. Then it will be wonderful ! 

Gru. Now, now ! I' faith, Nina, I leaped not over the 
wall for nonsenscj,^ to-day. The strangest news ! Ho ! 

(^Striking his leg.) 

Nina. Are you mad? 

Gru. Almost! {Striking his leg again.) Those con- 
founded mosquitoes ! I hid among the rose-bushes, while 
the old fellows were talking, and the cursed sharp-bills 
stung me well for disturbing their slumbers ! If that 's 
suh rosa, I '11 no more on 't. 

Nina. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Billing and cooing always go to- 
gether ! 



256 IVYWALL. 

Gru. Don't laugli ! There ^s another ! 

(^StriJdng his hand.) 
Nina. A glass of wine will do you good. 
Gru. So it will, dearest! (^Smacking his lips.) 
Nina. Softly, then. 
Gru. As a mouse ! {,They steal off.~\ 



Scene III. — The Court of Justice. Officers and citizens toaiting. Enter the 

Judge. 



Judge. (Aside.) We must devise a plan to satisfy 
The people's clamor; else is Padua 
Scarcely a moment safe. What plan? what plan? 
A serious thought. Already have I done 
Whate'er the law allows : summoned Yincenti, 
Administered the solemn oath of wager, 
Whereby the party charged may clear his name 
By declaration of his innocence — 
The which he did : and, thus compelled, I gave 
A favorable judgment. Still the crowd 
Exclaims, 'tis perjury ! 

After a pause, the Judge becl-ons an OFFicfER, whispers to Mm, and Exit Officer. 
The Judge ascends to his seat, and opens a book. Beppo and Cosmo converse 
apart. 

Bep. What does he mean ? 

Cos. Ask the law books yonder ! They can tell as well 
as I : though, in good sooth, even if they would, 'twere 
hard matter to understand their learned language. 

Bep. A puzzle for old Nestor himself! But there's 
some cunning device afoot, depend on't ! A bright man 
is our Judge ! 

Cos. Ay, bright as gold ! 



GOLDSMITH OF PADUA. 257 

Bep. I've found it : the Goldsmith ! May it not be of him ? 

Cos. Like everything now-a-days. When was there 
ever heard so much of one man in Padua before ? 

Bep. When Antonio ran away with the Duke's daughter. 

Cos. Less : less ! But what think you of the Goldsmith ? 

Bep. That a man who cannot plead poverty as tempta- 
tion, should doubly suffer the law. 

Cos. Right ! Give us justice ! He has raised his head 
above all of us ! He has lived in luxury and splendor, 
year after year, on the fruit of his crimes ! 

Bep. Remember, too, he even sat on the bench of Magis- 
trates ! 

Cos. I do remember. Now, if law be not made to fence 
the rich; if its object be the bulwark of all; let him be 
brought to trial ; let him receive the punishment ! 

Enter Guisseppe. 

Guis. Most noble Judge, I claim the law's protection ! 
It is well known the popular voice is up 
Against Vincenti ; equally well known 
That I have held long intercourse with him, 
In various matters. He accused of fraud. 
The rumor spares not me. It is incumbent 
Upon my reputation, this be cleared ; 
Moreover, that the proper criminal 
Stand forth, in sight of all. 
The honest praise of men I dearly prize. 
And will not sacrifice mine honor lightly ! 

Judge. Justice and reason speak in tjiy demand. 
Yet will the law require a definite charge, 
Sustained by evidence incontrovertible : 
Hast thou such evidence ? 
22* 



258 IVYWALL. 

Giiis. I come prepared. 

It grieves my very soul, to blot with crime 
A name revered and blest in Padua, 
A name that shone so fair through Italy, 
A name which I have spoken, day by day, 
For many years, with friendship ! Yet my own, 
And all within our city, now demand it. 
Thus urged, I come to thee, most noble Judge, 
With a plain story. Lately I deposited 
A hundred ducats in Vincenti's hands, 
My secret object but to prove his truth. 
Not doubting then : and presently required 
My ducats back, under pretence of need. 
I tried them. To my great surprise and grief. 
Thirty were base ! Again I saw Yincenti, 
Who still, in answer to my words, denied 
Knowledge of aught, excepting that he placed them 
Within a private drawer, where, all untouched. 
They waited my return. Some angry words 
Arose between us : and I left him so. 

Judge. It is enough, I grieve to say it is. 
To found the charge ; unless — good Seignior, pardon — 
It should be said, as thou hast intimated, 
Thou art thyself accomplice. 

Guis. What, sir ? 1 1 

Is not my character — 

Judge. Was not Yincenti's ? 

{Enter Officer, disguised as a foreign merchant.) 

Officer. ( To Judge.) My lord, I have obeyed your 
order. The amount deposited with the Groldsmith, under 
this disguise, has been restored. I gave him good and 



GOLDSMITH OP PADUA. 259 

marked money : but receive back the greatest part in false 
coin. 

Judge. Arrest bim instantly ! Yet stay : come bither. 

{The, JcDGE whispers the Officer. JSxit Officer.) 

Bep. Did I not say truly : " A brigbt man is our Judge !" 
No cbance bave villains in Padua now ! 

Cos. Well, tbey possessed tbe city long enough. The 
death of one will be a terror to alb 

Bep. Is the penalty death ? 

Cos. Death at the block. 

Bej). But Vincenti will not suffer. He may even be 
innocent at last. In any case, great service has he ren- 
dered our city, and therefore may be pardoned. 

Cos. Not for innocence, he has none : not for past lib- 
•erality, that 's forgotten ; yet is there one hope. 

Bej>. What is 't? 

Cos. Gold! 

Bep. You suspect our Judge ? 

Cos. Hush ! 

Ee-enter Officer, loith Vincenti. 

Judge. Seignior, thou stand'st accused of coining, 
Or uttering, false coins of Italy. 
It is a fearful charge : and full of sorrow, 
That one, of age, and wealth, and reputation. 
Like thine, must answer it. 

Vin. The accuser lies ! 

I do deny the charge ! My life denies it ! 
Have I not dwelt among ye from my youth ? 
Received the highest honors of your city ? 
Nay, more : the confidence of Italy ? 



260 I^'YWALL. 

And who is he, when fortune crowns my age, 
What envious, fiendish heart, would torture me. 
When I would rest, after my many cares, 
Or only strive again for Padua ? 
I dare ye to the proof ! What evidence ? 

Judge. The first (^Pointing to Guisseppe.') 

Fm. My friend, Gruisseppe ! 

Guis^ Even I. 

To test thine honesty, a hundred ducats 
Did I deposit with thee, then reclaimed them ; 
And thirty of the hundred found I base. 

Yin. And thou, Guisseppe i 

Guis. I only state the fact : I found them so. 

Judge. ( To Vincenti.) And then : an officer, here pres- 
ent, sought thee. 
In foreign merchant dress, and gave thee gold, 
Claiming" it back again in like disguise. 
How was it, when restored? {To Officer.) 

Off. ^T was chiefly false. 

Yin. Ay, altogether false ! I swear by Heaven, 
I looked not on the gold, but kept it locked. 
With care beyond my own ! 

Judge. A moment more. 

What further evidence ? 

Off\ We searched his palace. 

In secret drawers were instruments of coining, 
With all materials ) large amounts of coin. 
Base coin, were found throughout. And these await 
The order of the Court. 

Judge. Vincenti ? 

Yin. I stand within the gathering shade of hell : 
Yet am I innocent ! 



GOLDSMITH OF PADUA. 261 

Judge. What proof appears ? 

Vin. None : I liave none that may acquit me here : 
But here, there is no criminal ! ( Touching his heart) 

Judge. May He, 

The Sovereign Judge, thus also render judgment! 
For my poor part, I must pronounce thy guilt. 
On Tuesday, in the Public Square, at noon, 
Thou diest ! 

Enter Bianca, wildly. 

Blan. Father ! Father ! 

{She sinlcs at Ms feet, embracing Mm, and weeping.) 
The curtain sloioly falls. 



262 IVYWALL. 



ACT III. 

ScESE 1.—Nig7tt. A forest. Ferando, aZone. 

Fer, Day lias no joy for me, and night no rest; 
And day and night shall bear an equal care, 
Till from the chaos of this mystery 
I bring the light. ^T is now the darkest hour : 
The shrouded form of Doom comes nearer still, 
And, like a figure in the hovering fog, 
With each advancing step is more gigantic ! 
I must believe Vincenti innocent : 
Aid me, Heaven ! to prove it ! If I f\iil — 
What image rises to my tortured sight ! 
The silvery hair of age is dark with blood — 
A maiden wanders in a whirling storm, 
Beatins: the ruthless winds with maniac arms 1 
Her shrieks — Have mercy, God ! 

Enter Florio. 

Flo. All through the woods I ran to meet you, sir. 
And I had falls, too. What a lonesome place ! 
I ran to meet you, sir. 

Fer. ( With indifference.) Well — you are here. 

Flo. Thank my young legs for that ! And if they 're 
wounded, 
'T is in the service of a dear, good master ! 



GOLDSMITH OF PADUA, 263 

Fer. Who will remember it. But news — what news ? 
Hast thou done all I told thee ? 

Flo. To the .letter. 

And such a weight of wonder bring I back, 
The marvel is, how I could ever bring it ; 
Though twice or thrice I fell, too. 

Fer. Quickly, boy ! 

Flo. Good news! (^Clapping his hands.) 

Fer. Ah, jthat is light ! 

Flo. And that's the reason 
I rose from every fall, and flew along. 
Well, sir, I found the man you sent me to. 
A villain, sir — if I 'm a boy — a villain, 
AYith looks that show the sin his heart would hide, 
And his arm only do in secret, sir 

Fer. Dwell not upon his looks ! 

Flo. They dwell on me — - 

They haunt me, sir ! I feel I'm not so good 
Since he looked on me ! 

Fer. (^Encouragingly) Yes, my noble Page. 
Proceed. 

Flo. I tried my simple way. Ah ha ! you know it — 
And he was caught — but then I pitied him. 
And blamed myself, that, in an angel's guise, 
Had found the devil out. His heart grew soft. 
And as his head was not unlike his heart, 
My doleful story moved him presently. 
In brief, my lord, your supposition 's true. 

Fer. True ! I am glad to hear it. 

Flo. Hear it, then. 

This honest friend of mine, who, like a mushroom, 
Grew in a single night — this sap-head villain — 



264 IVYWALL, 

Is of a goodly company of coiners, 

•That chose a cavern here within the wood, 

And set a mint np, but forgot the hcense. 

The Chief of this most honorable body 

Is a rare hero — though my new-found friend 

Esteems him over-rated. From the picture, 

It seems to me I've met His Mightiness, 

Even in Padua ; and, to assure me — 

I now propose to visit him straightway, 

And introduce my master, which to do 

I have secured all means. 

Fer. My gallant boy ! 

Flo. My duty, sir, is but begun : your praise 
Must not o'erpass it. 

Fer. Let us on, at once. 

I see the gleam of Hope ! 

Flo. I think it shines 

From out the crevice of a cavern, sir : 
Within, the torch burns full ! The way is short. 
But longer than my story. \_Exeunti]^ 

Scene II. — Interim of a Cave. Jeronimo discovered^ counting coins. Men sleep- 
ing on the ground. 

Jer. The bells have struck the first hour of the day : 
when they strike the central ! Then farewell 
Vincenti's glory : welcome my revenge ! 
Disguised, I've mingled with the citizens. 
From day to day, and still the more enjoyed 
The working of my plot ! 'T is brave ! 't is brave ! 
Sleep on, ye drunken fools ! Your master wakes ! 
The angel of his wrath converses with him 
In words of fire, not for dull souls like yours ! 



GOLDSMITH OF PADUA. 265 

Love's heaven is now transformed to Hatred's hell. 
Peopled with myriad mad and laughing fiends ! 
Ha ! ha ! 'tis happiness ! 

Enter, unobserved, Floeio and Ferando. 

Flo. You know him, sir ? 

Fer. Through all disguise — Jeronimo ! 

Jer. And I have done it ! 

The keys — I have them here : Good keys, my thanks I 
This was the pass- word to Vincenti's office, 
This to his private drawer — and this — and this — 
True gold I got from thence, and false coin left 
To fill the place on 't : excellent exchange ! 

Fer. Villain ! (^Draios his sword, advancing.^ 

Flo. Peace, my lord ! not yet! (^Restraining him.) 

(Je^oximo starts, alarmed at the sound, examines the Cave, and returns to his 

position.) 

Jer. Some caitiff there, 

Muttering of his debauch. I grow a coward. 
Faint heart, be bold, be bold until the noon. 
And then forever ! Ha ! to think I did it ! 
I brought that grand old head, dishonored, down ! 
I taught humility to^ proud Bianca ! 
Yes, Hwas a wise thing, 'twas a very wise one. 
To hide my money-making instruments 
In old Vincenti's palace ! ha ! ha ! ha ! 

Fer. By Heaven, I cannot bear it ! (Draics.) 

Flo. Peace, my lord ! 

Jer. And so, a little while, and it is done : 
I'll to the Public Square ! to see him die ! [^Fxit.^ 

Flo. Let us depart, my lord. 'T were rashness now. 
23 



266 IVYWALL. 

His fellows are around him ; we are two, 
Or I am nothing. 

Fer. Thus far fortunate, 

The rest may follow to the happy end. 
Come, then, no more my servant — come, my friend ! 

' \_Exeunt.'\ 

Scene III. — Tlie Banquet Hall of VincenU's Palace, Furniture disarranged. 
Enter Jacobo, Tbanio, and Grumio. 

Jac. The banquet hall ! 

Tra. A sad, deserted one, 

An image of its master ! 

Gru. Yes, of him 

Who shall have none to-day ! 
Or, like a broken plaster image — ^lieadless ! (^Sings :) 

" Go on, my good master, 
But faster, and faster, 
The headsman, he follows, follows ! 

There '11 be a groat knock, 

When block goes to block, 
And the headsman " 

Out on 't ! I have forgot that rare old song ! (^Sings :) 

" And the headsman " 

Don't ?/ou remember it ? What 's next ^' the headsman?" 

Jac. Is n't it — Grumio ? 

Gru. Neither rhyme nor reason ! 

But let it pass. It wants but few hours now. 
And up goes Master Executioner, 
And down the Goldsmith! 

Tra. ( To Jacoho.) How I pity him ! 
He has a daughter, too. 

Jac. A lovely girl ! 

It was my fortune to be present here, 



GOLDSMITH OP PADUA. 267 

The evening of her hirth-day festival. 

How bright she shone amid the noble throng, 

Courted by all. And then how proud Vincenti, 

As her sweet voice arose ! And prouder still, 

And happier was Ferando, looking love. 

Which she reflected back with smiles and blushes ! 

By Jupiter ! I scarcely knew myself ! 

Scarcely remembered me a simple Clerk, 

Only admitted by Guisseppe's favor ; 

So beautiful and grand was all around ! 

Tra. Alas, the change ! ^tis pitiful ! pitiful ! 

Gru. I 'd like to know how many sighs youM give, 
If 'twere a poor man ! I have none for 7u'm, 
A coiner, a mean, contemptible — 
I'll laugh to see his head roll ! — 

Tra. Whatever crime a man may sufler for, 
He claims our serious pity. I deny 
The right of law in penalty of death. 
And most of all for crime not causing death, 
As this is. 

Gru. Have a care ! Your wits are failing ! 

T'ra. I only speak my thought. 

Jac. What then ? 

Shall villains go at large, and do their will ? 

Gru. Answer us that ! 

Tra. Are there no prisons left ? 

What mischief can they work behind the bars ? 
^Yhat good may not ensue from thought and teaching, 
If really guilty ? Then, if innocence, 
One day, perchance, be proved — we can restore 
Their name and freedom. Can ye so with him 
Whose head is taken ? 

Jac. Why, a country life 



268 



IVYWALL. 



Has set you dreaming : yet there 's truth in dreams ; 
Sometimes there's truth in dreams ! (^Masinglij.) 

Gru. But none in this. 

The Uiw is so, and wise men made it so ; 
And so it has been, many good old years ; 
And so it 's no affair of mine ; and so 
I '11 none on 't ! 

Tra. Bravely argued ! 

Gru. Glad you like it ! 

But all your words of new-discovered right 
Don't touch the Groldsmith. 

Tra. Do they not ? Suppose 
The sentence be unjust 

Gru. I can't suppose it ! 

Tra. Then it is dark. The universal praise 
His previous life received ; and, more than all, 
His kindness and his liberality 
Forbid belief of wrong. There 's some mistake ! 

Jac. Too late to think of it. His time is near. 

Gru. So near, that if we 'd witness the beheading, 
^T were best we swiftly pass along the rooms. 
Learn all we can — what splendor once he lived in — 
And thank our friends, the officers : then go. 

Tra. For my part, I regret I ever came : 
I will not see his death. 

Jac. Nor I. 

G7ni. The law 

Shall have the dignity of my appearance. 
Like a true subj ect. Shall we on, good Masters ? \_Exeunt.'] 

Scene IV. — A cell of the Prison. Vincenti in chains. Bianca toeeping. 

Vin. Be comforted, poor child ! 'Tis nothing — nothing ! 
I go awhile before — 



GOLDSMITH OF PADUA. 269 

Only a little wliile. And there — I see 
Thy sainted mother looking down to cheer 
My parting hour, with promises of joy ! 

Bian. So soon ! so soon ! 

Vin. (^Pointing upward.^ The Father of the Or- 
phan ! If the world 
Look coldly on thee, still confide in Him, 
Remembering ever — I am innocent ! 

Blan. Innocent — and — to die ! cruel Earth ! 
pitiless Heaven ! for ye behold the wrong, 
And will not save ! 

Vin. Be calm. Accuse them not. 

Heaven gave prosperity, I proved ungrateful ; 
Or thanked, in vanity, myself alone. 
Then came adversity, to humble me. 
And point the proper path.' ^T is well : ^t is well ! 

Bian. 0, my dear father, kind wast thou to all I 
And kind — so kind to me ! 

Vin. I feel, alas ! 

Much have I left undone : yet humbly trust 
Pardon awaits me ; not from man : Were God 
Merciless as His creatures, Heaven, indeed. 
Were dark as Earth, and hopeless ! Still my heart, 
Illumed with sacred light, forgiveth all. 
And though the law may confiscate my wealth, 
True friends will rise to thee, when I am gone. 
Like fountains in the desert, moved by God ! 

Ferando 

Bian. Father ! 

(^Witli agony J throwing herself on his breast.) 

Vin. What is this, poor girl ! 

Alas, I know it ! Love's enchanted palace 
23* 



270 IVYWALL. 

Was built upon the sands : the storm liath crushed it ! 
Yetj from the ruin, build another up, 
And found it on the Rock, and dedicate 
Its glorious beauty to the Holy Spirit ! 
All shall be well ! 

Bian. I feel it would be so ; 

At least a single ray of blessed light 
Would pierce the darkness ; 
If this weak, timid heart resembled thine ! 
Thou ! 

Who lookest on my father's dying hour ) 
Making it valiant, in the face of terror ! 
Making it cheerful, in the night of sorrow ! 
Making it trustful, when the angel Hope 
Waves her soft wings for flight ! 
Give strength and courage to an orjDhan's heart, 
To bear whatever ill may now invade ', 
To smile, and still live on ! (J. distant sound of hells.) 

Vin. The hour approaches. 

Leave me awhile, Bianca. 

Bian. I cannot, cannot leave thee, father ! 

(^Clinging to him.) 

Vin. Nay, nay ; be resolute ! We meet again. 

{He conducts her to the door, knocks upon it thrice : a bar is removed : and exit 
Bianca. The bar replaced. Vincenti, after walking the cell to and fro, sits down, 
and hides his face. The music of the " Miserere "faintly and fitfully heard from 
the Cathedral. He starts, and listens.) 

Vin. Forever, ever sweet ! 

'T was thus I heard the solemn, sacred tones 
In my gay boyhood ; and my wild heart grew 
So calm and hushed : as if an angel choir 
Joined their grand voices in the dim Cathedral ! 



GOLDSMITH OF PADUA. 271 

Yes : " Miserere ! " Pity rae, God ! 
For then came manhood on, and I forgot Thee, 
And from Thy Holy Temple turned away, 
To worship at the shrine of tempting Gold ! 
Again, the sweet, sad tones I loved so fondly ! 
They fall upon my soul with soothing power ! 
They steal upon it like the dawning day ! 
Yes : " Miserere V Pity me, God ! 
Methinks it were no pain to die this moment. 
The last of earthly sounds — so sweet ! — so sweet ! — 

(^Mtisic gradually ceases?) 

Scene \.—A street. Enter Nina, weeping. 

Nina. My poor, poor Master ! And my Mistress ! it 
will break her heart ! 



G 



ru. 



Enter Grtjmio, singing. 



" But faster, and foster, 
The headsman, he follows, follows ! " 



What 's all this about, Nina ? 

Nina. You know ! you know ! 

Gru. The cheating Goldsmith ? 

Nina. Poor, poor man ! 

Gru. A rich one too long ! 

Nina. And so kind to me ! 

Gru. Well, there is some truth in that ! For I Ve had 
your ducats tried, my dear, and they 're all gold. Pity he 
did n't pay other folks in the same metal ! You shall have 
your ducats to-morrow, dear. 

Nina. Don't speak of them, now, 



272 IVYWALL. 

Gru. Why not ? 

Nina. I can think of nothing now, but — dreadful ! 
dreadful ! And both so kind ! " Do not forget me, 
Nina ! " she said : and her eyes were full of tears. " Take 
this, my last gift; and keep it, Nina; keep it, for my 
sake !" (^Taking a miniature from her bosom, and Jciss- 
ing it repeatedly.^ 

Gru. AVhat is 't ? 

Nina. Her own loved face I And so like her ! Just 
as she looked, that happy, happy evening ! I loill keep 
it. Yes ! till death ! (^Kissing, and about to replace it.) 

Gru. Let me see. 

Nina. {Giving the miniature.) Dear lady Bianca ! 

Gru. Set with diamonds ! Nina, our fortune 's made ! 
We '11 marry at once ! We '11 leave Padua ! We '11 com- 
mence a snug inn, among the mountains : where the brave 
Banditti will visit us, sometimes ! fine fellows ! noble fel- 
lows ! The ducats ! the diamonds ! That 's the life for 

me! We'll marry to-day! We'll We'll 

Ducats ! diamonds ! 

Nina. (^Snatching away the miniature.) Gro ! 

\^Exit, in anger."] 

Gru. Go ! Grone ! A good riddance, say I ! A fine 

reward for my love — for the mosquitoes — for for 

Go ! Well, let her go ! She went without her ducats ! 
Ha ! ha ! It must be near noon, by the sun. {Sings.) 

" Go on, my good master, 
But faster, and faster, 
The headsman, he follows, follows ! " — 

And then comes the crowd! And a grand show will it 
be; with waving banners, and shining steel; and men, 
and boys, and women, running here, running there ; and 



GOLDSMITH OF PADUA. 273 

faces in windows, and bending from balconies, and roofs, 
and towers ! A grand show will it be ! Strange we don't 
have more of them ! A city nearly full of villains, and 
hardly once a month do they furnish entertainment for 
honest people ! But a great day shall we have now ! Never 

was one like it ! The streets are (^Bell tolls.) 

Halloo ! there goes the bell I His big voice sounds oddly. 
He is hoarse with calling to so many ! I never was too 
late where heads roll ! Ha ! ha ! (^Sings.) 

" There '11 be a great knock, 
When block goes to block ! " 

'[Exit, singing.'] 

{Several persons cross hurriedly.) 

SCEXE VI. — The Public Square. In the centre, the Scaffold and Block. Standing 
near, the Officer. Headsman resting on his axe. Bell tolling. Slow music 
from the distance ; gradually approaching. It ceases. Enter Vincenti, guarded. 
Enter Grumio, and Crowd. Enter Jeronimo, disguised, and Florio. Bell 
ceases. 

Gru. Just in time, i' faith ! " 'T were pity to lose any 
of it," said the cat, when the milk-maid's pitcher tumbled. 
Here stand I ! (^Placing himself in position.) 

(Vincenti ascends the Scaffold. His chain is removed.) 

Off. Prepare ! 

Vin. I am prepared ! Nothing remains. 
Save to repeat my former declaration. 
Before the World, before that Awful Power, 
I stand assured : for I am innocent ! 
And now, God ! I do confide to Tiiee 
My Spirit ! 

{Tlirows open his collar. Tlie Headsman slightly moves the axe. 



274 IVYWALL. 

Enter Bianca. 

(»S7ie rushes toioard the Scaffold, hut is held bade, struggling. Vixcenti leaps 
down from the Scaffold. Bianca breaks away, and they meet in each other''s arms. 
They are torn apart. Bianca, being forced in the opposite direction; Vincenti 
re-conducted to tlie Scaffold, and in the act of ascending — ) 

Enter Ferando, disguised. 

Fer. Hold! 

(Presents a paper to the Officer, w7io mahes a sign to the Headsman, arresting 
the execution : then reads the paper.) 

Gru. What's this! The Judge gets the money, and 
we miss the show ! llich men can do what they please in 
Padua ! Fie on 't ! 

(77ie characters stand, grouped : alllooking to tlte Officer, with intense interest.) 

Off. An order from the Court. Yincenti's free ! 
Fer. The criminal is here ! 

{Grasping the arm 0/ Jeronimo, and throwing off the disguise, and also discover- 
ing himself. Jeronimo draws his dagger, but is disarmed. Vincenti gazes 
around, with beioildered joy. Bianca looks gladly toward Yincenti. They meet, 
embracing.) 

Bian. My dear, dear father ! 

Vin. Child ! my child ! my angel ! 

(Vincenti and Bianca advance to Ferando, who has left Jeronimo in charge of 
Officers.) 

Vin. Thanks, thanks, my friend ! I walk in mystery, 
As one in sleep. 

Fer. ^T will be a pleasant waking, 

But, for awhile, sleep on. You move and live. 

Enter Judge, and other characters of the Drama. 
{They salute Vincenti and Bianca. Ferando converses apart with Bianca.) 



GOLDSMITH or PADUA. 275 

Judge. {To Vincenti.) May'st thou live happily! I 
ask forgiveness 
For all the dreadful wrong that hung above thee ! 

{Taking his hand.) 
Whatever reparation, friends, is ours, 
Most gladly I bestow. Vincenti's honor 
And fortune are restored ! 
Receive him back again to your affection ! 

The Crowd, shouting. Viva Vincenti ! To the Prison ! 
the Prison ! Viva Vincenti ! Let us have music ! 

Gru. The performance is postponed, owing to the in- 
disposition of the principal actor. We shall have a comedy 
now, with music and a marriage ; but the tragedy will soon 
be represented : when Jeronimo will take the part of the 
Goldsmith — supported by his entire company. {Sings :) 

" Go on, my good master, 
But faster, and faster, 
The headsman, he follows, follows !" 

ler. {To Vincenti.) Seignior and Friend! we have 
thee once again ! 

Vin. I cannot speak my gratitude ! The life 
Which thou hast saved will prove it ! 

Bian. I for once, 

A woman's tongue forgets its eloquence ! 
I thank thee with my heart ! 

Vin. 'T was his before! 

Say, with thy hand: for thus 'twill be to-morrow ! 
How bright the rainbow, Hope, shines out through Sorrow ! 

{Distant rejoicing music.) 



THE 



LATHAM PRIZE POEMS, 



AUTHENTIC BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES, 



Various f trtintnt mh Impjertintnt ^m^xks, 



BEINB 



A RELIABLE EXPOSITION OF THE PRESENT CONDITION OF OXTR NATIONAL 

LITERATURE. 



KSITED BT 



ALEXANDER APOLLO SMITH. 



24 



TO 

THE BANKERS AND BARDS OF AMERICA, 

HOPING THAT THET MAY BECOME BETTER ACQUAINTED WITH EACH OTHER, 
TO THEIR MUTUAL ADVANTAGE, 

THESE INSPIRATIONS OF GOLD AND GLORY, 

"THE LATHAM PRIZE POEMS," 

ARE MOST ADMIRINGLY, AFFECTIONATELY, AND HUMBLY 
BT THEIR OBEDIENT SERVANT, 

* 

THE EDITOR. 



HOW THE PRIZE WAS OFFERED. 



On the morning of February 12th, in the year 1853, the prosy- 
political people of Washington were startled by the following 
announcement in the National Intelligencer. In a few days, it 
was repeated from State to State, throughout our Union : in a 
few weeks, the whole .World wondered! 

ENCOURAGEMENT TO AMERICAN POETIC TALENT ! 
$500 PREMIUM! 

Impressed as I am with the controlling influence which is exercised by the fine 
arts upon the direction and destiny of human affairs, it has given me infinite 
pleasure to witness the bountiful manner in which, from time to time, painting 
and statuary have been encouraged and rewarded by the Councils of the Nation. 

But, while this acknowledgment is due to the discerning and worthy patrons 
of these noble arts, it is an equal source of humiliation and sorrow to behold the 
apparent apathy and indifi'erence with which they seem to regard the incompar- 
ably more valuable creations of poetry. 

To see them adorn the walls of the Capitol with the glowing revelations of the 
pencil, and decorate the public grounds Avith the costly c/ie/d'cBwrres of the chisel, 
is an omen of good which will be hailed and applauded by all as a cheering pledge 
of the progress of refinement. But, whilst they lavish their thousands upon 
these immobile products of canvas and marble and bronze, they offer no reward 
for the more exalted, more enduring and renowned ovations of the pen. No fos- 
tering hand firom these high places has ever yet invited the Promethean fire of 
poetry to animate the history of our country, which, with all its harmony of 
form and wonder of proportion, lies asleep around the humble vault of Mount 
Vernon, ready to spring into life and beauty at the first kindling touch of this 
genial inspiration. 

It surely were a work of supererogation to introduce the proofs that crowd the 
records of the past to show how far above all others stands the " divine art " of 
poesy. What are all the paintings, statues, and regalia of Versailles, of Fon- 
tainbleau, and the Tuileries, compared with the " Marseilles Hymn ? " What 

24* 



282 IVYWALL. 



the kingly panoply of gold and gems heaped up in the Tower of London ; what 
the collections of the Royal Academy, or even the time-hallowed shrines of 
Westminster Abbey, when compared with the songs of Burns, and Dibden, and 
Campbell ? Or what has the world that we would take in exchange for " Hail 
Columbia" and the " Star Spangled Banner ? ", Well might the British states- 
man exclaim : " Let me but write the ballads of a nation, and I care not who 
makes its laws." 

As far as the living, breathing man is above the cold, insensate marble that is 
made to represent him; as far as the radiant skies of summer are above the per- 
ishable canvas to which the painter has transferred their feeble resemblance, so 
far is poetry above all other arts that have their mission to console, and elevate, 
and inspire the immortal mind of man. 

In view of these facts, and considering the lamentable paucity of patriotic 
songs in my distinguished and beloved country, and with the hope of being the 
humble means of arousing a proper public feeling upon this interesting subject, 
I have been induced to offer, and do hereby offer, the sum of five hundred dollars 
as a prize for the best National Poem, Ode, or Epic. 
The rules which will govern the payment of this sum are as follows : 
1st. I have selected (without consulting them) the following persons to act a>s 
judges or arbiters of the prize thus offered, namely: 

The President of the United States. 

Hon. A. 0. P. Nicholson, of Tennessee. 

Hon. Charles Sumner, of U. S. Senate. 

Hon. R. M. T. Hunter, do. 

Hon. James C. Jones, do. 

Hon. J. R. Chandler, of U. S. House of Representatives. 

Hon. Addison White, do. do. 

Hon. Thomas H. Bayly, do. do. 

Hon. D. T. Disney, do. do. 

Hon. John P. Kennedy, Secretary of the Navy. 

Dr. John W. C. Evans, of New Jersey. 

Dr. Thomas Saunders. 

Joseph Gales, 

Gen. R. Armstrong, 

Dr. G. Bailey, 

W. W. Seaton, 

Professor Henry, of the Smithsonian Institution. 

Wm. Selden, late Treasurer of the United States. 

Rev. C. M. Butler, Episcopal Church. 

Rev. R. R. Gurley, Presbyterian Church. 

Rev. S. S. Rozell, Methodist Episcopal Church. 

Rev. Mr. Donelan, Catholic Church. 

2d. These gentlemen, or any three of them, are hereby authorized to meet at 

the Smithsonian Institution, on the second Monday of December next, at such 

hour as they may appoint, and there proceed to read and examine the various 

poems which may have been received, and to determine which of them is most 



- of the Press. 



LATHAM PRIZE POEMS. 283 



meritorious and deserving of the pi'ize. And I hereby bind myself to pay the 
sum aforementioned forthwith, to whoever they shall present to me as the person 
who has written within the time prescribed the best National Patriotic Poem, 
and upon their reiDrcseutation that he or she is an American citizen. 

3d. All communications must be sent to me at Washington (post-paid) before, 
the first Monday in December next, with a full and comi)lete conveyance of the 
copyright to me and my heirs and assigns forever. 

4th. I hereby bind and obligate myself to sell the poems thus sent to me as 
soon as practicable, for the highest price, and to give the proceeds to the poor of 
the city of Washington. 

5th. No poem will be considered as subject to this prize which shall not have 
been written subsequent to this date, and received before the first Monday in 
December next. 

R. W. LATHAM- 
WASHINGTON, Feb. 10. 1S53.- 



THE LATHAM PRIZE POEMS, 



" Pray do not mock me so ! 
Do not laugh at me ! 

Longfdloxo. 



F. a. H, 



The author of "Nannie," a poem of great popularity in the City 

of New York; of the "Croakers," famous in Frogtown; and "Red 

Jacket," pronounced "dem foine" by all gentlemen of the turf, 

began his poetical life nearly simultaneously with the natural, 

having in baby-hood given utterance to the following wonderful 

couplet : 

" Papa ! 
Mamma !" 

in which, it will be observed, the rhymes are perfect. Growing 
up to man's estate, and writing some fiery poems, a great capi- 
talist,* in order to save the country from war and ruin, engaged 
our bard by a large salary not to write poetry. This engagement 
continued several years. The patriotic millionaire then dying, 
F. C H. presently informs us : 

" I now am in the cotton trade. 
And sugar line." 

But, relapsing into song, business, of course, deserted him. The 
usual fate of genius had now been his, were it not that part of a 
magnificent legacyf left him by the capitalist aforesaid yet re- 
mained, upon which he retired, has written nothing since, save 
.the Latham poem, and being a bachelor, is living quite happily. 

* Jacob John Astore. f One thousand dollars. — PrinUr.. 



286 IVYWALL. 

An uncommon ease pervades his versification, a natural, un- 
studied flow of language, and a careless playfulness and felicity 
of jest. 

BY FITZ-BLUE H. 

" At midnight, in his guarded tent, 

The Turk was dreaming of the hour 
When Greece, her Icnee in suppliance bent, 
' Should tremble at his power : 

In dreams, through camp and court, he bore 
The trophies of a conqueror ; 

In dreams his song of triumph heard. 
Then wore his monarch's signet ring : 
Then pressed that monarch's throne— a king ; 
As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing. 

As Eden's garden bird." — Fitz-Green HalUck. 

At midnight; in his ojQ&ce dim, 

Sat Latham, dreaming of the time 
When all the land, inspired by him, 

Should pour the mighty rhyme : 
In dreams he saw his countrymen 
Enraptured seize the tuneful pen ; 

In dreams their ^^ Songs of Freedom'^ heard ; 
Then felt himself a glorious thing ; 
Then pressed Apollo's throne — a king : 
So wild his thoughts, he cut the wing 
Of a domestic bird !* 

At morning, eloquent and long, 
His '^ offer'^ met the nation's eyes ; 

=>= This passage is rather obscure, but may be presumed to mean, " he cut a 
pigeon-wing" — there being a dance so called. — Editor. 



LATHAM PRIZE POEMS- 287 

Large print was clamorous for song r 

Hurra, my boys, a prize ! 
The news passed on ; the bards awoke, 

No more content to dream : 
^^ The prize V upon their senses broke 
Like Etna's flame through ^Etna's smoke :; 
They seize the long-neglected lyre, 
They light anew its ancient fire. 

They bid its primal glory beam : 
On every hill, in every vale, 
Uprose the universal gale 

Of " Liberty or Death I" 
^' Strike — till the last of kings be dead ; 
Strike — for the stars above your head ; 
Strike — for the Yankee Land ye tread 1" 
Gods ! I am out of breath ! 

They wrote — like Emmons, long, not well ;* 
They filled full many a foolscap sheet, 

They finished ; let the Judges tell 
Their undeplored defeat. 

In fancy, all their rhymes I saw, 

In fancy, heard their proud hurra, 
- When the last word was done. 

Then saw each paper careful close. 

And knew, with thumb upon my nose. 
Not yet the prize was won ! 

Come to the contest, Fitz-Blue ! come ! 
Come as a giant, when he feels 

* For once, our great poet is unjust. The author mentioned certainly wrote 
much— the " Fredoniad," in ten volumes, being but a small part of his labors- 
yet he also wrote well, and always on national subjects. It is to be regretted that 
his Illustrious critic has so seldom chosen themes of native land. — Editor. 



28S IVYWALL. 

His dinner, well assured he 's " some V' 

And, when the broken seals 
Shall break so many hearts, to thee 
Five hundred dollars fall in fee ! 
Come in Bozzaris' battle storm, 
Red Jacket's Tuscarora form. 
Or like thyself, mild, playful, warm, 

In love with wit, and dance, and wine ;, 
And thou art conqueror — thy name. 
Which every school-boy knows is fame, 
Shall fill the rival host with shame. 

And Latham's prize be thine I 

Now to the country where my songs 

Have mounted like a rocket's light^ 
My genius, more subdued, belongs ; 
And all her Revolution wrongs 

I '11 brand, and glorify her right ! 
Come, ye who would oppress your race — 
Come, who possess an honest face — 

Come to the land of freedom • here 
Did tyrants wield their dastard power, 
But taught ere long to cringe and cower. 

Hence fled they in their abject fear I 
To-day our land is glorious, free 1 
A people wonderful are we ! 
To-day our doors are open wide, 
Come all the world, and we'll provide 

Room, peace, and joy, and all good things ! 
Here stars and stripes are sure defence ; 
Here gold abounds and common sense ; 

Here changeful Fitz-Blue sings ! 



LATHAM PRIZE POEMS. 289 

And Latham ! with the heroes old 

Of Bladensburgh's historic time — 
A moving history — I 'm bold 

To give thee praise sublime ! 
Like them thou lov'st " our city" — so, 

In danger's hour, would'st cry, " away !" 

Nor heed whoever answered, ^^ stay !" 
Nor look behind, once turned to go ! 
Like them, dost thou in centre stand. 
With eyes of love on all the land — 
But there hast thou superior power ; 
On thee has fallen a golden shower. 
And liberal art thou again. 
Scattering far thy precious rain ; 
Especially art free to those 
Who pretty poetry compose ; 
Most free when native bard devotes 
His lyre to patriotic notes ; 
And were it not for thee, my friend. 
This poem, (now so near its end,) 
To freedom's loss, had not been penned ! 

'T is done ; and in the ages dim. 
For many centuries, ^t will dwell 
In million minds, and men shall tell — 

" It were not written but for him !" 
And thus at once our country's praise, 
As well as own, in future days. 

Twin stars, shall shine on high ! 
The Song is Freedom's, we are Fame's ; 
Two of the few immortal names 

That were not born to die ! 

25 



290 IVY WALL. 



W. C. B. 

Several sentimental and philosophical poems, some with very 
hard names, have given W. C. B. a wide reputation, insomuch that 
he is known from our Atlantic shores almost to the Pacific. He 
wooed the muse before he had attained his " teens," like Pope, 
Tasso, Chatterton, and Cowley, far surpassing them all, which fact 
has been attributed to the nature of our glorious institutions. 
America is singularly adapted to the production of precocious 
talent. The boys of this country join political processions, sing 
political songs, (hence our numerous poets,) run with the fire 
engines, smoke cigars and swear, like men, and hence they 
are men at a very tender age. The world beholds all this with 
astonishment, more and more admiring our freedom. 

®l]e §00m 0f % Singers, 

BY W. C. B. 

" The melancholy days are come, 

The saddest of the year, 
Of wailing winds, and naked woods, 

And meadows brown and sear." — TF^ C. Bryant. 

The grand, romantic days have come, 

The proudest of all time ; 
A Banker calls our poets forth, 

And oiFers cash for rhyme ! 
Far in the iron-compassed vault, 

'Mid silver, gold, and notes, 
I hear him tell the Continent : 

'^ Prepare to tune your throats V 



LATHAM PRIZE POEMS. 291 

A thousand weak-voiced birds reply, 

Who rhyme nor reason know ; 
The Banker turns away his head, 

Or only says : " So — so !" 

Where are the bards, the true old bards. 

That lately stood and sang. 
And shamed away to silent gloom 

This now uproarious gang ? 
Alas, they've learned another trade; 

For though their songs were sweet. 
They got no other pay than praise — 

And praise ain't good to eat ! 
The poet, in these latter times, 

Wants bread — ye give him stones; 
Ye wrong him through his toilsome life, 

Then canonize his bones ! 

And I, had I not printer turned. 

Had perished long ago. 
As the flower that only gives its bloom 

To the death-touch of the snow.* 
In poetry was found no pay. 

So, politics I sought. 
And recently, at auction, I 

A horse and buggy bought ! 
What's more, one-third the cost I paid. 

And for the other two. 
These patriotic Latham notes 

Shall carry me safe through! 

* Chrysanthemum. Its budding beauty is often surprised by •mnter.—Autfwr. 



292 IVYWALL. 

0, thou ! wlioever now thou art, 

That condescend'st to song ! ' 
Inspire me to the height of " prize V 

I fain would "go it strong \" 
Ha ! ha ! I burn ! I rave ! ha ! ha ! 

My Country fills my heart ! 
Throughout this sublimated form 

There is no mortal part ! 
For is it not enough to make 

An angel of a man, 
To sing thy praise, America ? 

And as no other can ! 

Land of unnumbered boats of steam ! 

Unnumbered roads of rail ! 
Land of magnetic telegraphs ! 

And baby-jumpers ! hail ! 
Thy empire from the rising sun 

To the setting sun extends ! 
The world, and all the rest of men, 

Shake hands with thee as friends! 
They see, upon thy starry flag, 

A wonder and a sign. 
And own, with universal shout — 

That horse and buggy 's mine ! 



LATHAM PRIZE POEMS. 293 



N. P. W. 

Here, as generally, N. P. W. gives the reader a sketch of him- 
self, rendering our biographical task unnecessary. He is the 
poet of refinement — of polite society — an admirable artist — 

" To gild refined gold, and paint the lily." 

-# 

BY N. P. W. 

" The dust is old upon my ' sandal-shoon.' 
And still I am a pilgrim ; I have roved 
From wild America to Bosphor's waters, 
And worshipp'd at innumerable shrines 
Of beauty." iV. P. Willis. 

Land of the daring soul ! 
Thy child who loves thee, though he wander'd long, 
Offers the priceless tribute of a song ! 

Not with the maddening bowl, 
Not with the drunkard's joy he praises thee, 
But reason's bliss, divinest poesie ! 

Thou art the stranger's home ! 
Those whom oppression from their native shore 
Hath banish' d, hither fly, and never more 

Would from thy Eden roam ! 
All this is well, if 'twere but men of rank 
And title, having money in the bank. 
25* 



294 IVYWALL. 

But when the common kind, 
Irish and Dutch; who whiskey drink, who smoke 
Tobacco vile — ah, me ! it does provoke 

The cultivated mind ! 
A land to Art and Song so passing dear — 
There should be none but high-born gentles here ! 

Who cannot wear white kid ; 
Whose handkerchief hath not the breath of flowers \ 
Who cannot sing, dance, sigh in ladies' bowers ; — 

His presence be forbid ! 
Let us old France and Italy excel : 
The soul of living is, in " living well !" 

Such time shall come at last ! 
'T is almost here ; for Luxury, up town, 
Begins to pull the frame-made houses down, 

Where gothic mansions vast 
Shall like Alladin's rise ! And look ye, too. 
What deeds our papers, what our Bankers, do ! 

'T is like a lottery : ^' PRIZE V 
In largest capitals, stands everywhere ! 
But still the noblest offer I declare 

That which before me lies ; 
A Patriotic Poem ! May it be 
Worthy my native land, and worthy me ! 

These ^'offers'' indicate 
The land's progressiveness. There 's nought so fine 
On earth as heaven-born poesie ! (see mine !) 

Nought helps to make us great 
Like poesie ! The world's supremest boast 
Is woman — she loves poesie the most ! 



LATHAM PRIZE POEMS. 295 



KEY. C. p. C. 

The Rev. C. P. C. had the immortal honor of being- born in 
sight of the Capitol of the Nation, and within the District of 
Columbia. We may imagine how he stood, a child poet, on the 
wharf of Alexandi-ia, and gazed with large eyes of patriotism on 
the swelling dome of our Temple of Freedom, dim and soft in 
the blue distance ; how grand thoughts winged the sunny air 
from that bannered height, and nestled like doves in his young 
heart, thence to fly forth like eagles over the earth at the call of 
the magnificent Latham ! 

His verse is rather of the transcendental order, but frequently, 
for a little time, rests on the boundary of meaning. 

BY THE REV. C. P. 0. 

" Amid the watches of the windy night, 
A poet sat, and listened to the flow 
Of his own changeful thoughts — until there passed 
A vision by him, mixrmuring as it moved, 
A wild and mystic lay, to which his thoughts 
And pen kept time — and thus the measure ran:^ 

"All is but as it seems; 

The round green earth. 
With river and glen ; 
The din and the mirth 

Of the busy, busy men ; 
The world's great fever 
Throbbing forever ; 
The creed of the sage, 
The hope of the ago, 
All things we cherish. 
All that live and all that perish, 
These are but inner dreams." — Eev. C P. Crunch. 

Amid the bowlings of the midnight dogs, 
A poet sat, and in himself did rhyme 



296 IVYWALI*. 

A patriotic song, for Latham's Prize. 

A vision murmured by him, and therein 

America was singing, and his pen 

Followed the words — and these the words it followed 

America 's my name ; 
The round earth knows, 

On land and on sea, 
If it cometh to blows, 

How great, how great I be ! 
The British fever 
Cured I forever; 
Down the hill of Bunker, 
Like whipt curs they slunk, or 
But climbed to its summit. 
To find they '^ could n't come it" — 
Which, in fact, is the same. 

My great war hurried on, 

Past believing ; 
The foe had gone, 
Making a dismal moan; 

Ha ! for his grieving ! 
That was a match-light compared to a blaze. 
That was a nudge to the waking amaze ! 
Him I followed fast, 
Often him overcast, 
Till all my land he found 
Wonderful slippery ground, 

Then to the ocean fled ; 
There he stood daring, 
Boasting and swearing : 

'' Ocean is mine V he said. 



LATHAM PRIZE POEMS. 297 

" Ocean is yours ? '' said I. 

In my grand scorn I spoke, 
After him as I broke, 
Tossing the wild waves dark 
Madly both sides my bark — 
^^ Ocean is yours, you say ? 
Insolent ! clear the way ! 
'Tis the world's highroad, and 
That shall you understand !'^ 
So, like a thundering Jove, 
Striking his face 
With red disgrace, 
I marked thereon the lie ; 
Then gave his crazy boat an angry shove ! 

Later, I caught again 

Red-Coats intruding; 
Bravely I fought again, 

Still the true mood in ; 
Short, then, the fight it was, 

Victory was mine. 
Proving how right it was — 

My '^ right divine!" 

Later yet, Mexico, 

Largely my debtor, 
Saucy, did vex me so — 

How could I let her ? 
Straight I went at her, then. 

Took every town. 
Settled the matter, then. 

Knocking her down ! 



298 IVYWALL. 

Thus is it ever, too ; 

When, in my wrath, 
Nations endeavor to 

Slip from my path ! 
But if they mind themselves, 

Let me alone. 
Truly they '11 find themselves 

Ready to own 
Amo?' est sirenus, 

Divine as the stars ; 
My friendship is Yenus, 

My anger is Mars ! 

Thus sang America, and made the poet 

Most happy with her changeful melodies. 

And confident, as he had followed them 

Faithful with pen, his labor meet reward 

Should find in grateful hearts, and Latham's Prize. 



LATHAM PRIZE POEMS. 299 



a. p. M. 

Here we have the best song of the great song-writer, G. P. M. 
His ballad of the fair maiden, whom somebody loved, and treated 
savagely, so that, after suifering through an entire winter night, 

" Her heart and morning broke together, 
In the storm" — 

was nothing to this production, though the former received shouts 
of applause whenever sung. But "The Disunionist" breathes a 
sentiment dear to the heart of every American, and is therefore 
destined to an unbounded popularity. This popularity will be 
increased by the fact that our Bard is a Brigadier-General, uni- 
ting with his song-talent the all-conquering power of Alexander, 
Csesar, Napoleon, and Bombastes Furioso. 



%\lt §m\xhmt 



BY G. P. M. 



" Woodman, spare that tree I 
Touch not a single bough ! 



In youth it shelter'd me, 

And I'll pi'otect it now. 
'T was my forefather's hand 

That placed it near his cot. 
There, woodman, let it stand. 

Thy axe shall harm it not !" — George P. Morris. 

Mister, spare our States ! 

Speak not another word ! 
The silly parrot prates, 

But you're a sillier bird. 
'T was our forefathers' hand 

That fixed our glorious lot, 
Then, Mister, let 'em stand, 

I tell you, touch 'em not ! 



300 IVYWALL. 

Tlie old familiar name^ 

Whose glory and renown 
Made England's lion tame — 

Her " meteor flag" come down ! — 
Mister, liusli your tongue ! 

Cut not our Heaven-bound ties ; 
Long after you are hung 

Our stars shall "flout the skies!" 

When but a little boy, — 

Blue jacket, pretty pants — 
How oft I heard with joy 

My uncles and my aunts, 
My father, mother tell 

The greatness of our land — 
These foolish tears will swell — 

But* let our old States stand ! 

My heart-strings round 'em cling — 

So mind your eye, my friend ! 
A Brigadier may bring 

Your swaggering to an end llf 
Old States ! " the free and brave !" 

Here, Mister, leave the spot; 
While I 've a sword to save, 

I tell you, touch 'em not ! 



* At this pause the handkerchief is produced and apijlied to the eyes. It con- 
tributes strongly to the pathos. 

t The hundred thousand readers of the " Journal," published in New York by 
N. P. W. and myself, have been frequently informed, through my partner, that 
I have the honor of being a Brigadier General in the Militia of that State. I 
beg leave to repeat the information here, for the advantage of those, if any, who 
may thus far be ignorant of " mine office." — Author. 



LATHAM PRIZE POEMS. 301 



Mrs. S. J. H. 

We regret our inability to give more than a single specimen of 
our female aspirants for the Latham Prize. They were numerous. 
Every "Boarding School for Young Ladies" contributed at least 
twenty. Yet we have been able to prevail only with the present 
authoress to allow this introduction to the public. 

Mrs. S. J. H. is a veteran in literature. We trust she will 
pardon the word, which intimates age, as, with all the world, we 
proudly testify to her yet-blooming charms of person. 

Her writings, like her manners, possess a juvenile elegance. 
She is a model for the daughters of the land, in propriety of 
deportment, and the winning graces of mental supremacy. 

BY MRS. 8. J. H. 

" * It snows ! ' cries the school-boy, ' Hurra ! * and his shout 

Is ringing through parlor and hall, 
While swift as the wing of a swallow, he 's out. 

And his playmates have answered his call ; 
It makes the heart leap but to witness their joy, 

Proud wealth has no pleasures, I trow. 
Like the rapture that throbs in the pulse of the boy, 

As he gathers his treasures of snow ; 
Then lay not the trappings of gold on thine heirs, 
While health, and the riches of nature, are theirs." — 3Irs. S. J. Hale. 

" The prize I" cries the poet, " Plurra ! " and his rhyme 
He readeth through parlor and hall, 
Then up to the chambers his summons doth cHmb, 

And down to the kitchen doth fall; 
It makes his heart glad when he utters aloud 
The rhymes to his household, I trow, 
26 



302 IVYWALL. 

And lie hears, wlien they praise, the applause of the crowd, 

That shall give him 500, you know ! 
Let him rest in that hope till the winter shall come, 
And then let him shout, or thereafter be dumb ! 

" The prize ! " cries the Poetess (author hereof,) 
^' For telling how Freedom I love ? 
My answer is silence ! Go on ! Ye may scoff,* 

But my passion all words is above ! 
When the daughters of Lear were assembled to tell 

How fond were their hearts to their sire, 
There were two who spoke fluently, fully, and well. 

But the third, with few words, must retire : — 
Should the crown have been hers? Soon the winter 

will come. 
And then shall we know who shall shout, or be dumb \" 



0. W. H. 

Pills and poetry seem congenial; identical, indeed, as it is gen- 
erally admitted that " Poetry is a drug in the market." 0. W. 
H. is entitled to M. D. after his name, as well as some others in 
our book. But should anybody imagine for him a character like 
that in the song : 

" The Doctor came, 

With long face like a Quaker" — 

It won't do, for never was jollier man than the Doctor. His 

* The first half of this line is, alone, sufficient to prove her a remarkable 
woman. — Hditor. 



LATHAM PRIZE POEMS. 303 

oldest friend hasn't once seen him sad, or heard him sigh. His 
life is a laugh. All his verses laugh, and make every reader 
laugh also. Every fat man is lover true of 0. W. H. If thin 
men all knew him, there would soon be no thin men. 

The present subject is the most serious he has ever treated, but 
even here the attentive reader will discover lurking fun, in the 
jerking style of expression, and in the peculiar construction of 
the poem. 

We need not wish the Doctor a long life ; that's certain, because 
he is a merry Doctor ; nor fortune, for he has it ; and, therefore, 
only entreat him to write a National Song every year during the 
next century. 



Hx §m\ltt SauL 



BY 0. W. H., M. D. 

" I saw him once before. 
As he passed by the door, 

And again 
The pavement stones resound, "* 
As he totters o'er the ground. 

With his cane."— O. W. Holmes, M. D. 

Our Yankee Land is blest ! 
'T is the wonder of tlie West ! 

And I think, 
On the whole broad earth outspread, 
Ne'er so worthily were shed 

Blood and ink ! 

For our heroes of the sword, 
They did, upon my word. 

Nobly fight ! 
And our heroes of the pen, 
Both the women and the men. 

How they write ! 



304 IVYWALL. 

I need not now go back 
O'er tlie long historic track, 

This to show ; 
'Tis easy, but, indeed, 
As all of us can read. 

Why, we know ! 

What the Chinamen declare 
Of the Tea Land over there, 

Here is true. 
That the light of earth is ours. 
All the sense, and other powers, 

Old and new ! 

No invention, but we claim, 
Nor action worthy fame — 

But our own ! 
We shine as does the sun. 
For the world to gaze upon, 

Grand, alone ! 

Then hail the " stripes and stars," 
And the telegraph, and cars ! 

And the boat ! 
Let creation understand. 
We're by far the greatest land 

That's afloat! 



LATHAM PRIZE POEMS. 305 



G". H. 

This spirited author is no relation of Bunker H., so famed in 
the early part of our Revolution. Bunker H. was not a poet, 
though the cause of much poetry : see Emmons. G. H. is a poet. 
He has seen the sea. He has stood among the ''Ruins of Athens." 
Byron and Gr. H. have made immortal both the ocean and that 
antique-templed shore. And Byron and G. H. are much alike, 
in caring not a song for their native land, and devoting many 
songs to foreign lands. How G. H. came to write the present 
National Song, nobody knows. But men, and especially poets, 
will sometimes do strange things — for money. 

BY G. H. 

" A glorious tree is the old grey oak : 
He has stood for a thousand years, 
Has stood and frown'd 
On the trees around, 
Like a king among his peers ; 
As round their king they stand, so now, 

When the flowers their pale leaves fold, 
The tall trees round him stand, array'd 
In their robes of purple and gold." — G. Hill. 

A glorious land, the United States -, 
It has stood for seventy years, 
Has stood and found 
In the nations round 
No argument for fears 3 
26* 



306 IVYWALL. 

Though each had something to say, at first, 
How it could n't live to be old. 

That the people free arc like tigers loose, 
And apt to be overbold ! 

We have pass'd the time 
Of nursery rhyme. 
Though yet are we scarce a man. 
But we mean to live, 
And a lesson give 
To the world that no other can ; 
We will show the world what freedom is, 

(The sweetest of orderly things,) 
And prove, by our. new arithmetic : 
One President 's fifty kings ! 

And we hope, in the course of a century, 
Living and acting thus. 

From pole to pole 

Shall a voice up-roll 
In Jjiberty's song with us. 

And the farthest shore 

Shall cry ^^ encore ! " 
And still shall the strain prolong. 

And that Jubilee 

Of a whole world free 
Shall end with a *' Latham Song!" 



LATHAM PRIZE POEMS, 307 



c. s. 

Though these initials appear in another part of our collection, 
this poet is not the other poet. C. S. has published a little book. 
His poems have illuminated newspapers, shining resplendently 
among advertisements. Patriotic subjects have a great charm for 
him. 

BT C. 8. 

" Arm for the Texan battle, 

Sons of the brave and free 1 
Away, and win a soldier's grave, 

Or a glorious victory ; 
Cries of your murdered brothers, 

On the red Alamo slain, 
Are pealing in your hearts for aid, ^^ 

And shall they call in vain ? ^P^ 

Then arm for the Texan battle." — C. SoruTU 

Arm for the mighty battle, 

Whatever boys ye be ! 
Wherever born, ye 're brothers now, 

And lo ! your Mother's Me ! 
The tyrant rules too many lands — 

We '11 break his rod and chain ! 
The world is crying out for help — 

And shall she cry in vain ? 

Then arm for the mighty battle ! 

In our destiny is writ : 

^' Ye shall possess the world I" 



S08 IVYWALL. 

From shore to shore our stars and stripes 
UDt3onquered be unfurled ! 

The Eagle bears our flag, 
The Eagle, bird of Jove : 

Let^s on, wherever Earth is green, 
And blue the skies above ! 

Then arm for the mighty battle I 

Shout ^^ Yankee Doodle ! March V 

And imitate your sires ! 
'Subdue creation, open schools, 

Light Independence fires; 
Set all the heavens ablaze 

With rockets as ye run. 
And pile a monument of thrones 

To honor Washing — ton ! 

Then arm for the mighty battle ! 



S. A. E. 

Born in the shadow of the Capitol, and now protected beneath 
its wings, S. A. E., skilled in the " art divine," were ungrateful 
indeed had he not written several National Songs. Yea, he hath 
done all this, and more. For, in early days, he freely gave the 
aid of his brilliant pen, and best types, (being a printer,) to aid 
a poet who then wandered in the Political Metropolis quite alone, 
and, otherwise, quite unfriended. Thus the subject of this notice 
brought forward to the admiration of the whole country a Bard 



LATHAM PRIZE POEMS. 309 

who sang its Navy Yards, its Land and Marine Battles, its New- 
Year Odes, and everything that was its.^ 

S. A. E. has never published a volume of his own poetry, ex- 
cept by recitations on public occasions. 

Air — " what is our great-men's commotion." 

BT S. A. E. 

" Ye sons of Columbia, who glory 
• At Liberty's banner unfurl'd, 

While prizing her " eagles" before ye, 
Their moral send over the world ! 
Chorus — Let " Liberty" long be our motto, 

And high may her bright banner wave ; 
And he who don't value her blessings, 
Deserves to be spurn'd as a slave !" — ^Sl A. Elliot. 

Ye sons of tlie Muses, who glory 

At Latham's 500 unroll'd, 
Be still ! — for a Bard is before ye, 
Who sang in the good days of old ! 
Chorus — Let Latham count over his money, 
And not a word further be said ; 
A light lingers yet in the District, 
The ivy-crown's green on my head. 

Tben listen, thou sun, and thou moon ! 

Then listen, ye stars of the sky ! 
Ye hemisjDheres, Eastern and Western, 

Attend ! — for the singer is I ! 
[Chorus, &c.] 

* We are informed, by the oldest inhabitant, that there was once a Bard in 
Washington who did all these things, but whose name is now forgotten ! — 
Printer. 



310 IVYWALL, 

A beautiful place we inliabit ! 

Supremely is Washington fair ! 
Our Congress is mighty in wisdom, 

You'd think the old Romans were there ! 
[Chorus, &e.] 

Demosthenes, hearing himself 

Make speeches beside the loud sea, 

Could he listen to Congress, would stare, 
And speech never more utter he ! 
[Chorus, &c.] 

If Chesterfield, famous for bows. 
And honey-tones, sweetened by art. 

Could hear a debate in the " Hall" — 
He 'd leave, with his hand on his heart ! 
[Chorus, &c.] 

I Ve sung the great City of Congress ; 
Thereby may the Nation be known : 
And now would I sing of its Latham, 
But Latham — I'll let him alone 1 
Chorus — Let Latham count over his money. 
And not a word further be said ; 
A light lingers 3'^et in the District, 
The ivy-crown's green on my head ! 



LATHAM PRIZE POEMS. 311 



c. s. 

A banker, in England, has been celebrated as a poet ; a banker, 
in America, shall be — or, -vre should have said, a cashier of a 
bank. Such is C. S., of the good town of Boston. He has al- 
ready written many fine things. But the greatest wonder about 
him is that a poet should discharge, in a faultless manner, the 
duties of so prosaic a business — thus confuting a venerable 
opinion of the world's, that poets must always live in the clouds. 

C. S. is a very modest man, (we suppose with a bald-head,) 
mixes but little in society, and was never five miles from his na- 
tive town. He loves his old books, his old friends ; is quiet as a 
mouse, and domestic as a cat. His style of writing is gentle and 
classical. 

§n f anJr. 

BY C. 8. 

" Above the crowd, 
On upward wings could I but flj', 

I 'd bathe in yon bright cloud, 
And seek the stars that gem the sky." — C Sprague. 

Beautiful Land ! 
An Eden, most resembling Heaven ! 

To Franklin's strong right hand 
(Pierce do I mean,) thy power is given. 

And long and well, 
No doubt, he'll manage thy affairs; 

And future times will tell 
The wreath became his curling hairs !* 

* " His hair has a curl in it." — Hawthorne's Lift of Pierce. 



312 IVYWALL. 

History, o'er all. 
Shall praise, in his administration, 

Latham's 500 call, 
Resounding through the Yankee Nation I 

Therein were seen, 
In prose, thought, language sweet as honey, 

Enough to prove, I ween, 
He could have rhymed, and saved his money ! 

Yet, since he will. 
Smiling, persist to hold it out, 

I'll rhyme myself for 't — still. 
With heart submerged in seas of doubt. 

Beautiful Land ! 
(As I began do I begin,) 

For warlike heroes grand, 
Each born with destiny to win ! 

Home of the Free ! 
Our Revolution tumbled down 

(Where it shall ever be !) 
That blood-gemmed serpent-coil, the crown ! 

Temple of Truth ! 
Virtue and Mind are honored here ! 

Grave age and joyous youth 
Speak their full souls, and feel no fear ! 

Bower of the Fair ! 
Daughters of freemen, giving birth 

To others, who shall bear 
Still, and for aye, the pride of earth ! 



LATHAM PRIZE POEMS. 313 



J. R. L. 

We have not much to say about J. R. L., because we know 
very little. He is a handsome young man, (married, ladies!) 
and a native of Boston. Leaving law for poetry, he has, strange 
to relate, " made something" by it ; but that 's in New England, 
where most of the people can read. His life passes quietly, in 
a half dream of philosophy, somewhat mysterious, yet, so far 
as we may understand it, good and ennobling. The thoughtful, 
hopeful character of our young bard is prominently exhibited in 
his prize, poem. 



Jflto EttJi M|ttt. 



BY J. R. L. 



" There came a youth upon the earth 
Some thousand years ago, 
Whose slender hands were nothing worth. 
Whether to plough, or reap, or sow." — J. R, Lowell. 

On famous " old Virginia's store/' 

Some twenty years ago, 
Stood a poor boy, who stands no more 

To dread tlie wind, or rain, or snow. 

But then, e'en then, sublimest thought 

Found room within his brain, 
And eagerly thenceforth he sought 

His joy-dream's golden truth to gain. 

27 



314 IVYWALL. 

He won it : and to-day appears 

His '^ prize " in papers all ; 
Throughout the land each poet hears, 

And arms him for the glorious call. 

Strange that the child of poverty 
Should muse, with downcast eyes : 
*' My Country; were I rich for thee ! 
Oj but I 'd give a mighty prize ! — 

One that should wake the poets up, 

Like battle, rousing Mars ! 
And every l\eart's o'erflowing cup 

Should pledge Young Freedom's '' stripes and 
stars !" 

Strange that the generous thought should live, 

(Such thoughts are apt to die,) 
Strange, the once-poor, now rich, should give 

Indeed this prize to poetry ! 

All praise to him who loves so well 

His lovely native land. 
Waking for it the " tuneful shell,'^ 

And voices wondrous sweet and grand ! 

Among those voices mine shall rise, 

To dignify the theme — 
Perhaps to win the luring prize, 

O'er all the multitude supreme ! 



LATHAM PRIZE POEMS. 315 



NATIONAL SONa. 

In the beauty of thy youth-time, 

Thou, America, art blest, 
For the dreams of countless ages 

They are true ! they are possessed ! 
And the glories of old stories 

Now are living in thy breast ! 

All the sages' dreams of plenty. 
All the poets' dreams of joy. 

All the freedom of their visions, 
Visions day could not destroy. 

All the peace, and truth, and grandeur — 
These are thine, my darling boy !* 

And forever, still forever, 

Shall thy happiness extend, 
And forever, still forever, 

Shalt thou be the poor world's friend. 
Till the world shall come unto thee. 

And it sorrows have an end ! 



* This variation from custom, in " unsexing " America, may be justified in 
the reader's mind on reflecting how manly is America's character, as proved in 
the afiFair of Mexico, &c. A friend to whom these lines were shown hinted that 
the necessity of rhyme required "boy." To annihilate such a charge, is it not 
sufficient to say that I have written ten thousand verses? — Tlie Author. 



316 IVYWALL 



Professor H. W. L. 

The stately, strange measure of Professor H. W. L. was never 
more stately and strange than here. The last line, in its obscure 
hint, is perfectly awful. 

Our learned poet has surpassed himself in this Prize Poem — 
if, indeed, it be altogether his, for, we regret to say, he has some- 
times been caught stealing, and has made large gains thereby, of 
which fact a noted instance may be found in a verse running 
thus : 

"Art is long, and Time is fleeting, 

And our hearts, though stout and brave. 
Still, like mufiled drutos, are beating 
Funeral marches to the grave." 

Stolen from the German. And so of sundry other verses. 

%\)t ^mu n)i lire 3mq. 

BY PROF ESS OE H. W. L. 

" In the valley of the Pegnitz, where across broad meadow-lands 
Rise the blue Franconiau mountains, Nuremberg, the ancient, stands," 

Professor H. W. Longfellow. 

In tlie District of Columbia, famed for fine tobacco-lands, 
By tlie blue Potomac river, Wasbington, gay city, stands. 

Little knows it toil and traffic, little knows it art and song. 
Yet its Avenues, in winter, mighty men and women throng. 

Then the banner of our nation, on its Capitol unfurled, 
Emblems freedom's blood and heaven-light to the wonder- 
looking world ; 



LATHAM PRIZE POEMS. 317 

And for fifty years that banner, dome and chimney far 
above, 

Thus hath emblemed truth and grandeur, peace, and lib- 
erty, and love. 

Yet so proudly waved it never as it shall next winter 

wave. 
When the prize shall be awarded, prize the liberal Latham 

gave ! 

Every crimson stripe more crimson, every star shall brighter 

glow, 
Joy shall fill the sky above it, joy inspire the crowds below. 

Hath not Latham, by his bounty, honored much that 

glorious sign ? 
Will not all the crowd be poets — every poet saying 

" mine V 

" Mine the prize !" Alas, too hopeful ! For the prize is 

only one, 
And, a single bard successful, thousands, thousands, are 

undone ! 

Even now the fates decide it; all discerning hearts and 

eyes 
Well may think and well may read it : I alone shall win 

the prize ! 

I, who write as foreign, native poet, poetess ne'er wrote, 

I, who if I fail in fancy, know the tongues, and aptly 

quote, 

27* 



318 ' IVYWALL. 

Stealing thoughts as gypsies children^ and disguising them^ 

until 
For my own sweet babes right freely pass they, offspring 

of my quill ! 

Therefore, who shall dare dispute it, when the ghosts of 

poets old, 
Masters of the charmed lyre, me shall aid to gain the 

gold? 



soNa. 

Hail ! hail ! thou starry land ! 
Thou, in thy armed hand, 
Holdest sublime command, 

Passing the Roman ! 
'Tis not by tyranny 
Millions acknowledge thee; 
Love is thy sovereignty — 

Fear's for the foeman ! 

Grentle and fair art thou ! 
Peace on thy angel brow, 
Bindeth her rainbow now. 

Making thee glorious ; 
But when war shouteth loud, 
but thy look is proud ! 
Erebus-dark the cloud ! 

Then thou'rt uproarious ! 



LATHAM PRIZE POEMS. 319 

World, would'st thou find a friend ? 
Hither thy footsteps bend ; 
Freedom's sweet smile will lend 

Light to creation ! 
"World, would'st thou dare a foe ? 
Grive but good cause, and lo ! 
One that in hate will go 

Deep as * 



Another genius of whom AVaslimgton is proud, W. W, has, 
heretofore, been only celebrated as an Album-Poet; but there 
were nobler things in him — everybody knew it — everybody said 
it. Long has he been persuaded by the girls, each presenting 
her pretty blank book and smile: "Do write me some verses! 
Now do !" — for W. W. is a bachelor, prospering in trade, and fully 
able to support a wife : but henceforth his country will impor- 
tune him, when the following song shall be published. There 
is poetry in its very title. 

Like a brother bard in this collection, W. W. is a great admirer 
of Burns, without being at all inclined to the wildness of Scotia's 
favorite. His couplets invariably end with "0." There is one 
important difference between the poets, however. W. AV. con- 
tends that "0" is a good rhyme for "0," and will have no 

* A strong comparison was probably intended here, but only a long blot is 
found in the manuscript. The Devil suggests a word, quite familiar to himself, 
but the poet choosing to leave us in darkness, so let it be. — Printer. 



320 IVYWALL. 

otlier ; while Burns, with his usual extravagance, gives us a 
rhyme and " " in the bargain. But W. W. is undoubtedly right. 

%\lt $q 0f tilt ixn, ®. 

BY Vf. W. 

" A rose is charming to the eye, 
And to the nose in smelling, 0, 
But of her beauty she must fade, 
And moulder into nothing, ! " — William Wilson. 

A flag 's a lovely thing to see, 

When hung aloft, and swelling, ; 

Each nation loves a different flag, 
And I have no objection, 0. 

But all the people of the earth, 
Who come to live among us, 0, 

Forget the flags that gave them birth,''' 
And love our own the dearest, 0. 

Our Eagle, with his mighty wings. 
They see, protects them better, 0, 

Our silver " stars " are bright with hope, 
Our ^' stripes'' are for the enemy, ! 

Then let us swear we '11 make our flag 

As wide as yonder heavens, 0, 
And like the " stars " that look on us. 

All stars shall look on freemen, ! 



* We cannot otherwise account for this rhyme, in the common acceptation, 
than hy supposing it inserted by some friend of the Author. Indeed, the manu- 
script bears us out in the conjecture, as a word has been erased here, and "birth'' 
seems written by another hand. — Editor. 



LATHAM PRIZE POEMS. 321 



J. E. T. 

Of J. E, T,, as of Chatterton, might be written: 

" The marvellous boy, that perished in his pride," 

only that he has not yet ''perished in his pride," but "lives and 
expatiates" in it, more and more every day. Though still quite 
young, his works are wonderful, his prose and poetry being alike 
profound, and, in general, beyond mortal comprehension. He 
imitates Willis, but has but-Willised Willis. 

BY J. E. T. 

" Of literature, he knows a little — 

That is, of foreign ; and whate'er of native 

He deems insipid, and to entitle 
It a moment's rank above creative 

Things of half-way excellence, is to settle 
A thing that is entirely decisive 

With English potentates in literature, 

Who rule the realm of letters as of war." — J. E. Tuel. 

I sing my Country ! I who lately sang* 

The " Age of Tinsel," and some other things 

Which the world knows of. Their music rang 
Wild as a ":on";! Thou Eai>le! 0, what win<!;s 

* The first line of this beautiful poem resembles one by Cowpcr : 

" I sing the Sofa ! I who lately sang," &c. ; 

But its dignity is so improved by the introduction of " my country," that we 
consider tlie whole fairly original. J. E. T. often thus improves on the produc- 
tions of his tuneful brethren. — Editor. 



822 IVYWALL. 

Hast thou, indeed, and what an awful clang 

Their anger makes, and how it startles kings ! 
Thou art terrible in war, but in peace the 
Lamb itself can not more gentle be ! 

Great hast thou ever been, my Country, but 
Greater art now than ever, and in my 

Opinion all creation cannot put 

Three such great men together as in thy 

Happy dominion live at present ! Shut 

Your mouths, ye nations, and attend, while I, 

Low-bending, in my verse do name their names : 

Latham and Willis, and a third, whose fame's 

Green, it is true, but shall be evergreen, 
And likewise glorious ! Who can hesitate 

To know, decidedly, the man I mean ? 
Yet, from all minds all doubt to dissipate, 

Let me proclaim this third. Him hast thou seen, 
About hotels, in after-dinner state. 

If ever thou in Washington did'st stand : 

'T is I, myself ! This Trio is most grand ! 

The first hath been the first to ofier '^ Prize" 
For patriotic poem ! And the second one 

Is quite our best of poets. His talent lies 
In true refinement, which he hath well done ! 

And for the third — excuse these modest dyes 
That now my cheek ensanguine round upon — 

'I imitate great Willis, and do him love 

With such affection as the angels do above ! 



LATHAM PRIZE POEMS. 323 

But I wander from my theme, although to stray 
Is not my custom — custom honored more 

In breach than the observance — and I pray 
That our fair native land, to farthest shore, 

Be happy, and a perfect " milky way'' 
Of stars, at last, be hers, and nations o'er 

The waters form a part of it, and all 

In glory shine, and never, never fall 1 



JOHN SMITH. 

John Smith is universally known, and respected. He is an 
admirer of Burns, whom he has been accused of imitating, which 
accusation he only answers with a laugh and a capital "0." 



an nt ixtt^inx. 



BT JOHN SMITH. 

" Behind yon hills where Lugar flows, 
'Mang moors and mosses many, 0, 
The wintry sun the day has clos'd, 
And I '11 awa' to Nannie, 0." — Burns. 

I 'VE dollars in the Latham Bank, 
Grood friends, too, if I need 'em, 0, 

But most of all kind heavens I thank 
That I 'm a Son of Freedom, 0. 



324 IVYWALL. 

Tlie Yankee boys who gained our rights, 
True Yankee boys succeed 'em, O; 

We 're stili the very deuce in fights. 
We soldiering Sons of Freedom, 0. 

We We took and give enough of blows, 
We 've took, but did n't heed 'em, 0, 

And please to not tread on our toes, 
We 're peaceful Sons of Freedom, 0. 

I wish you nations over seas 

Had chased your kings, and treed 'em, 0, 
You don't know what a life of ease 

Have all the Sons of Freedom, 0. 

There 's not a lad throughout our land, 
I don't care who may breed him, 0, 

But has an empire in his hand— 
We ballot-boys of Freedom, O. 

God bless the- glorious "stripes and stars!" 
Be every good decreed 'em, O, 

And wave and shine till all the jars 
Of earth be hushed in Freedom, 0. 



LATHAM PRIZE POEMS. 325 



'0ng anly ^Hf* 



BY J. S. K. 



Romantic tale of mount and vale 

And stream and lake of foreign shore : 
By sucli alone their charms are known, 

For ne'er I crossed yon ocean o'er ; 

Nor have I wish to roam. 

Our East sea-strand, our Southern land, 

And Northern, have I often seen ; 
Enough of fair, sublime, are there. 

To fill my soul with joy serene. 

And make me proud of home ! 

Even upon our poorest soil. 

Where scarce a tree or bush will grow, 
Where, by the long, long days of toil. 

We scarce win bread — we're prompt to show 
Noblest productions — Men ! 
Those who from humblest life up-rise. 

To shine in Senates, Armies, Bars, 
Making the old world ope her eyes, 

To comprehend our wondrous stars — 
Nor solve the mystery then ! 

* The envelope containing the full name of this author could not bo found, 
■when his poem was given to the Editor, who, however, supposes it to be J. S. 
Kidney, of somewhere South. 

28 



326 IVYWALL, 

And soon all foreigners shall see 

The glory of our favored time ; 
America, sweet lass ! shall be 

Victorious in the lists of rhyme, 
Beyond Europa's fame ! 
For this shall all creation thank, 

While ages yet on ages roll, 
The Prize bestowed at Latham's Bank, 

By Latham ! Music-loving soul ! 
Ring out his honored name ! 

In visits made to Washington — 

For once I had a claim or two; 
I wish the Grovernment had done 

Me justice, and had passed them through- 
But let the gone be gone ! — 
There saw I Latham. 'Twas, I think. 

In Seventh street his Bank was placed. 
His long, lean fingers full of ink. 

He wrote a business note in haste. 
And put his beaver on. 

Then, striding forth, away he sped, 

And never more we chanced to meet ; 
But ever in my heart his head. 

His smile, so kind, so boy-like sweet. 
His low-toned voice, will rest; 
And equally my pride and joy. 

Through all my life, shall be, to tell 
To every woman, man, and boy, 

And every little girl as well. 

How much I was impressed ! 



LATHAM PRIZE POEMS. 327 

Now for the Prize his bounty brings, 

So dazzling, in the nation's sight, 
May every bard pluck eagle wings, 

And make a pen therewith, and write : 
And hail to him shall win it I 
I care not whom ; I only ask 

The song with proper care be done, 
That Liberty inspire the task, 

And stars and stripes, and Washington, 
And Latham's name be in it ! 



328 IVYWALL. 



SPIRIT-RAPPING POEMS. 



Antonio. Now, by the gods, 

Thou dost amaze me ! 

3Iiss Jane. I '11 amaze thee more ! 
What ho ! [staminng her foot,) 
From under ground, above, far, near, 

Spirits ! 
Poets of the Past, appear ! 
See ! a dullard doubter 's here ! 

Spirits ! 
Ope the lap-milk kitten's eyes ! 

Spirits, rise ! 



LATHAM PRIZE POEMS. 329 



BOSTING, U. S. 

To the Onerable the Judges of the '^Latham Pontes.''^ 

Gentlemen : Imejetly on tlie publicashun of the Latham prise 
oflFher for the best Nashunal Pome, we receved a comunicashun 
from the Speerit Wurld, distinctly xpressed by '' rappins." This 
comunicashun proseeded from R. M., who lived in this wurld 
about the yeer 1640. It enformed us that a meetin had just bin 
helld in the Mysterus Land, when the sed R. M. was called to 
the cheer, and E. A. P. apinted Secktary. A resolushun was 
presented by Dr. R. E., and carrid non compos, that each member 
of the meetin (all havin bin Amerikan poets) instantly prepair 
and transmit a Latham Pome, "not for the prize, which were 
now useless to us, but to augment the glory of our late and ever- 
to-be-remembered country." 

We reseeved the pomes, which we have the oner to lay befor 
your oners, each in the undouted hand-ritin of its orther. 

That your oners may concent to their publicashun, in book 
form, with the rest, is the umble prair of 
Your Oners' 

Umble Sisters and Servents, 

The Misses Wolf. 

P. S. Speeritual comunicashuns attended too promptly and on 
reesonable turms. Refer to X-Cenitur Tallsage. 



28* 



330 IVY WALL, 



E. A. P 

In tlie following poem we find the familiar peculiarities of E. 
A. P. still preserved — his repetitions repeated. The cause of 
these, as we have been informed, originated in youth. His 
Grandmother, to whom he read his verses, was very deaf. Fi- 
nally he acquired the habit of writing in this way — which 
habit was doubtless assisted by his natural inclination for the 
strange. 

BY E. A. P. 

" Thank Heaven ! the crisis — 

The danger, is past, 
And the lingering illness 

Is over at last — 
And the fever, called " Living," 

Is conquer'd at last." — E. A. Poe. 

Thank Latham ! the country 

Is happy at last ! 
His gold to the poets — 

Much needed — is cast, 
His life-cheering eagles 

Are proudly out-cast ! 

Thousands, I know, 

Will exult in their flight ; 
And our blue-stocking maidens 

Will sing at the sight, 



LATHAM PRIZE POEMS. 331 

And the boys of our colleges 
" Spout'' at the sight, 
And the Nation all over 
Grow mad at the sight ! 

Now will the universe 

Look to the " stars/' 
Now will the prison-doors 

Burst their old bars, 
And slaves shall be soldiers, 

And fight with their bars I 

This, and this only, 

Was needed to bring 
The world to its senses : 

Grive gold, and we sing ! 
And the world, in a moment, 

Is free when we sing I 



R. M. 

With two other poets, R. M. prepared the first book published 
in British America. This was " Delectable Stories in Metre, for 
the Use, Edification, and Comfort of the Chickens of the Colo- 
nies, in Public and Private, especially in New England. Printed 
at Cambridge, 1640." 

R. M. acknowledges that he cannot write very smooth poetry ; 



832 IVYWALL. 

" that it is not as elegante as somme may desire and expect;" 
but claims to have " strong thoughts and common sense — such 
things being not oft found in poetrie." 



§txm\\'$ '^mnl 



AND HOW IT SHOULD INSPIRE THE LAND 

BY E. M. 

"The rivers on of Babilon, 

There when wee did sit downe, 
Yea, even then, wee mourned when 

We remembered Sion." — Richard Mather. 

The waters nigh Potomac by, 

Vernon's Mount there doth it stand^ 

Yea, even there, a mansion fair 
Doth woo the eyes of all the Land. 

And Washington, great Freedom's son, 
He lived there full many years, 

And freemen they his tomb survey, 
And do it consecrate with tears. 

This noble is, and proveth his 

Whole life did to the States belong, 

And doth require the muses' fire, 
And eke a patriotic song. 

'T is also good that Latham should 
Therefor a mighty prize present, 

And I do think vast floods of ink 
And paper will therefor be spent. 



LATHAM PRIZE POEMS-. 833 

Thou mansion old, wliicli I beliold 

In fancy, and no otherwise, 
Thy gables tall, thy chimneys all, 

Long may they pierce the changing skies ! 

May Vernon's Mount, on no account. 

Be put in speculators' purse. 
May never there the bad repair. 

Themselves to make, and others, worse ! 

But bounteous store may evermore 
Of highest thoughts thereby be given, 

To light our days, and build our praise 
From beauteous Earth to blessed Heaven ! 

And may it be the propertie 

Of people Washington has saved ! 
Yea, ever fast, until the last. 

That sacred place in heart engraved ! 

Like sun it shine, to cheer, refine. 

To warm to life the loving Land ! 
Thus tyrant power shall cringe and cower 

Before its deathless influence grand ! 

Thus hopeful fates shall call new States 

From regions now in vice and woe. 
And man's great soul, from pole to pole, 

^hall on in joyous freedom goe ! 



334 IVYWALL. 



J. B, 

J. B., who is not to be confounded with the character of the 
same designation in Dickens' "Dombey," was one of our most 
voluminous poets, having written several epics, each as large as 
Harpers' Family Bible, or Doctor Johnson's Dictionary. Yet he 
wrote nobly. His works were remarkable for their unity of fable, 
their regular succession of incidents, and strong exhibitions of 
powerful character, thus combining the charms of a narrative. 
We have not found a single dull passage. We have bent over his 
ever-changing pages, without intermission, or food, for sixteen 
days and nights. His similes are particularly appropriate and 
elegant. 

The world admits that his "Columbiad" surpasses the "Hliad/' 
the *'^neid," and "Paradise Lost." 

The following production surpasses the " Columbiad :" 



|nbitiiti0n U ^au^. 



BY J. B. 

" Through solid curls of smoke, tlie bursting fires 
Climb in tall pyramids above the spires. 
Concentring all the winds : whose forces, driven 
With equal rage from every point of heaven. 
Whirl into conflict, round the scantling pour 
The twisting flames, and through the rafters roar, 
Suck up the cinders, send them sailing far. 
To warn the nations of the raging war ; 
Bend high the blazing vortex, swell'd and curl'd, 
Careering, brightening o'er the lustred world : 
Seas catch the splendour, kindling skies resound, 
And fallen structures shake the smouldering ground." 

Joel Barlow. 

Where Rock-Creek's waters through the vales disport, 
And unto George-Town make their tuneful court; 



LATHAM PRIZE POEMS. 33& 

Where frees, and vines, and moss, and wild-flowers grow, 

Well pleased to see their mirror'd charms below ; 

There, oft, when summer's sun was blazing round. 

And not a frog went bounding o'er the ground, 

I climb 'd aloft in some umbrageous oak. 

And woo'd the muse, and trembled as she spoke. 

Green leaves were over me, on either side. 

And far below, and no one me espied. 

While fair Columbia in her glory came, 

Dazzled my eyes, and set my soul a-flame : 

Then, like a blasted rock, burst songs of praise, 

And then and there I won my wreath of bays !* 

But ah ! had Latham in my living lived. 

Worthier had been my song, and worthier been receiv'd ; 

For all discouragements were 'gainst me then, 

The plough, loom, anvil dispossess'd the pen. 

And deepest mental toil was only said 

To prove a lazy, good-for-nothing head ! 

Had Latham lived — the smile of his regard. 

Like love's long, lingering look, had blessed the bard, 

Open'd his eyes to joy, his lips to song, 

Shot through his heart, roll'd all his veins along ! 

Regret is useless. Now I only write 

To urge my countrymen exert their might : 

Dear brother poets, bless your luckier fate, 

Spring early to the task, and labor late ; 

First read '' Columbiad," carefully, quite through. 

Which may require a month — not more than two — 

Thus shall your minds with thought poetic burn, 

When, well prepared, you may to Latham turn, 

* I composed the greater part of the " Columbiad " in the branches of an old 
oak, on the far-seeing eminence of Kalorama. I found that lofty situation most 
favorable to inspiration. — J. B. 



336 . IVTWALL. 

Catch the sweet smiles that circling gild his face, 
Those circling smiles than all mankind embrace, 
Tune your wild harps by accents of his tongue, 
And sing such songs — ^as Homer never sung 1 



E. T. P. 

This author wrote with a steam-like rapidity. Thought was, 
with him, a thing of "no consequence"* — a river of rhyme 
swept away all such little obstacles. Yet he was magnificently 
paid, receiving fifteen hundred dollars for one short poem, relat- 
ing to the General Post Office, f and seven hundred and fifty 
dollars for a song. He resembled a true poet only in one respect, 
to wit : he was indolent, and, in spite of fortune's favors, poor. 
His offering is admitted here because it comes in good company. 



f irfliam m\h f ib,ei1}|» 



BY R, T. P. 

" Ye sons of Cohimbia, who bravely have fought 

For those rights, which unstained from your sires had descended, 
May you long taste the blessings your valour has bought. 
And your sons reap the soil which their fathers defended. 
'Mid the reign of mild Peace 
May your nation increase, 
With the glory of Rome, and the wisdom of Greece; 
And ne'er shall the sons of Columbia be slaves 
While the earth bears a plant or the sea rolls itsVaves." — Robert T. Paine 

Ye bards of Columbia, who sweetly have told 

The fame of those fields which your fathers contested. 

May your friends be a thousand, a million your gold. 
And your memory in ages unnumbered invested ! 

* Favorite expression of Mr. Toots. 

t Entitled the " Invention of Letters." — Printer. 



LATHAM PRIZE POEMS. 337 

Still to Latliam attend, 

For the Banker 's your friend, 
And tlie sweetest of poems for Latham be penned ; 
Till Latham's great name with Columbia shall rise, 
While there 's verse in the land, or a charm in a Prize ! 

Let the insolent wits of the old world be still. 

For now have we books, that are worthy to read, too, 
And epics are coming with hearty good will. 

And Homer and Milton would own they succeed, too ! 
And the praise shall belong 
For the pride of our song, 
To the Banker whose money has backed us up strong j 
And Latham's great name with Columbia shall rise 
While there 's verse in the land, or a charm in a Prize ! 



DR. R. E. 

R. E. was both physician and poet, Tlie mortal profession he 
never practised, but extensively the immortal. So numerous 
were his Epics that no one has read them (all.) His mode of ex- 
pression was eminently original, for instance, in one of his 
Revolutionary poems, wishing to tell us that an old gun rested 
against a tree, he says : 

" An ancient war-tube 'gainst an oak reclined." 

A line the like of which we shall not find in Homer himself ! 
29 



338 IVYWALL. 

Indeed, tliroughout tlie poems of Dr. R. E. we are struck with 
his Homeric genius, especially in the ingenuity and melody with 
which he introduces a long list of proper names, like the 
"catalogue of the ships," in the Iliad. 



§hxu f atI]amiL 



BY DR. R. E. 

" Howe led the van, with royal star array'd — 
Leslie and Pitcarn, next in martial grade ; 
Richardson, Abercrombie, Williams, Clark, 
Percy and Eawdon with a lordly mark ; 
Bruce, Jordon, Spendlove, Mitchell, Butler, Small, 
With whom had Putman wing'd the deadly ball." 

Br. R. Emvions. 

Rejoice^ Land^ through all thy mighty bounds, 

For that no more thou subject art to crowns ! 

I 've sung the perils of thy early days, 

And now thy glories perfect claim my praise, 

My praise that shall in harmony remain 

Till " Hampton's Tincture" cease t' alleviate pain ?'^ 

What glorious times the earth doth now enjoy, 
I mean that part where I was born, a boy 
Romantic, loving verse, that sweet employ ! 
Yes, my dear Country, happy Country ! hail ! 
How could'st be otherwise, when every gale 



* The valuable medicine so poetically introduced in this line is now for sale .at 
the Drug Store of Dr. Patterson, near the market, Washington. It is particularly 
recommended for — 

" The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks 
That flesh is heir to." 

Editor. 



LATHAM PRIZE POEMS. 339 

Bearetli the fame of patriotic songs, 
While this to Halleck, that to Sprague belongs, 
Longfellow, Willis, Bryant, Cutter, Cranch, 
Holmes, Morris, Lowell, Kidney, Tuel staunch, 
And other bards renowned, inspired and led 
By Latham's self, in old Virginia bred. 
Who from " first family" did issue, thence 
By slow degrees arose and snug per cents, 
And now delights in his great offering 
Of gold to any native bard will sing ! 

Konor'd be Latham ! Him shall all men thank, 

And bow them at his patriotic bank ! 

Honor'd be Latham ! May he live full long ! 

Free flow his notes for fluent notes of song ! 

And when at last he seeks this shadowy shore, ' 

Deep may his native land his loss deplore. 

Which kind Heaven grant unnumber'd Lathams more ! 



340 IVYWALL. 



JUDGE H. 

The Pthine Song of Germany, the Marseilles Hymn of France, 
and the Hail Columbia of the United States ! There 's glory — 
with three prongs, like a lightning-rod. 

A better patriotic song than Hail Columbia was never written — 
except the following, in which our Judge is more than sublime. 



|ura HitJj f atljam* 



BY JUDGE H. 

" Hah Columbia ! happy land ! 
Hail, ye heroes ! heaven-born band ! 

Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause. 

Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause, 
And when the storm of war was gone, 
Enjoyed the peace their valor won, 
Let independence be our boast, 
Ever mindful what it cost ; 
Ever grateful for the prize. 
Let its altar reach the skies. 

Firm — united — let us be. 

Rallying round our Liberty ; 

As a band of brothers join'd, 

Peace and safety we shall find." — Judge, Hopldnso7i. 

Hail Columbia ! tappy land ! 
Franklin Pierce has chief command ! 

Who fought and fell* in Mexico^ 

Who fought and fell in Mexico, 
And when the storm of war was done, 
Enjoy'd the place his valor won ! 

* From his horse. 



LATHAM PRIZE POEMS. 341 

Now let Franklin be our boast, 
Second Washington — almost ! 
Also Latham and his " Prize ! " 
Join their names, and let them rise ! 

Soldier — banker — let them be 

Rallying words of Liberty ; 

Pierce and Latham, wise and strong, 

One for sword, and one for song ! 

Immortal patriots ! rise ! behold 
Power of steel, and power of gold ! 

They win and buy the nations round, 

They win and buy the nations round. 
Remembering Pierce in Mexico, 
Who now will fear a foreign foe ? 
Remembering Latham's glorious " Prize," 
What "stripes" will wave, what "stars" will rise I 
And both united — who can stand 
The swords and songs of such a land ? 

Soldier — banker — let them be 

Rallying words of Liberty ; 

Pierce and Latham, wise and strong. 

One for sword, and one for song ! 



29* 



342 IVYWALL. 



HOW THE PRIZE BECAME A BLANK. 



-<♦»- 



On Tuesday, December 20tli, 1853, the following appeared in 
the National Intelliycncer : 

DECISION ON THE PRIZE POEMS. 

Washington, Deceniber 14, 1853. 

Sir: The committee appointed to examine the communicationg presented for 
the prize offered by yourself for the best " National Poem^ Ode, or Einc," state 
that they met at the Smithsonian Institution at the time appointed ; that, after 
organization, they directed the names of the authors to be concealed; that, after 
a deliberate examination, they came to the unanimous conclusion that, in their 
judgment, there is no production among those submitted of such a character in 
its conception and execution as justly to entitle it to be considered a " National 
Poem, Ode, or Epic ;" and that they therefore respectfully decline recommending 
any one of them for the prize. 

CHARLES SUMNER, 
JOS. R. CHANDLER, 
JNO. W. C. EVANS, 
TH. J. SAUNDERS, 
JOSEPH HENRY, 
C. M. BUTLER, 
R. R. GURLEY, 
JAMES B. DONELAN. 
R. W. Latham, Esq., Present. 

And so it is over ; and the poets are left lamenting. But no ! 
like true Americans, they appeal from the few to the many, from 
the Committee to the People ! Now shall they be appreciated, 
now shall they receive the proudest prize of all — the approbation 
•of the World. 



THE END 



CONTENTS 





Page. 


IVYWALL . 


9 


The Bird op the Lamp .... 


12 


Book Song ...... 


. 14 


Soul Song ..... 


16 


Scene of the Olden Days .... 


. 17 


May Morning ..... 


21 


Fanny ...... 


. 22 


Eras of Early Life .... 


24 


The Heart's Memory .... 


. 27 


Love Vale . . - . 


28 


The Telegraph of Mind .... 


. 30 


The Stranger ..... 


31 


LiLLIE ...... 


. 33 


''Mattie" ..... 


34 


To an Unknown Lady .... 


. 36 


Soul unto Soul . . . . . 


37 


In Memory ...... 


. 38 


Charms ...... 


39 


*' Sweet Sixteen" . • . 


. 39 


Love and the Willow .... 


40 


Our Home ...... 


. 41 


The Day by Potomac .... 


42 


Infancy ...... 


. 43 


The Promise of the Age 


44 


Autumn ...... 


. 46 


"April Fool" ..... 


47 


Soldiers of 1812 ..... 


. 49 



344 



IVYWALL. 





Page. 


Remembered Love . . , . . 


50 


Truth 


. 51 


Thy Day is o'er ..... 


52 


Friendship ...... 


. 53 


Light Coming ...... 


54 


Willie ...... 


. 55 


f William and Amelia ..... 
The Old-time Carrier .... 


57 


. 58 


In the Night ...... 


60 


Time to go Home ..... 


. 62 


The River ...... 


64 


Julia ....... 


. 65 


Genevieve ...... 


66 


Rosa . . . ... 


. 67 


The Violet ....... 


69 


The Maid of the Mountain . , , . 


71 


LOUEVA ....... 


72 


Absence ...... 


73 


Birth-Day ...... 


75 


Agnes, " The Fairy Star" . . . . 


77 


Love . . . . . ... 


78 


Joe Tremble ..... 


79 


Marriage ...... 


81 


The Child ....... 


82 


Rosa Maye of Ivywall ..... 


83 


Summer Holiday ...... 


84 


God is ours ...... 


86 


Where is Scotland ? . . . . . 


86 


Age . . . . . • . 


88 


Indian Burial . . . 


89 


Our Native Land ..... 


91 


The Dreabi and the Awaking . . . . 


93 


Washington Crossing the Delaware . 


95 


Unknown ....... 


97 


Supreme ....... 


98 


A Dreamy Mood ...... 


99 


Kossuth ........ 


101 



CONTENTS. 



345 



The Haunted Clerk 

Kiss me . 

The Doom of Death 

The Wife of Kossuth . 

Fob a Dial . 

Joys of the Cottage 

Moneylover 

Oriental Traditions 

Jane M'Cree 

Earth's Last Angel . - 

Maye Cottage 

Niagara . 

Cottage Scene 

Lazarus . 

The Poetess 

The Captive 

The Warrior's Last Words 

Almost Home 

Ottoa 

Emma 

Youth and Love 

Zahara . 

A^'isioN OF Battle 

The Poet 

The Bird at the Helm 

The Doomed City 

Love Song . 

December 

Come Home . 

The Poet's Soul 

Bladensburg 

The Smoker 

Yankee Doodle 

Herb and Hereafter . 

The Last Night of Summer 

Hours at Home . 

Ramble by the River 



346 



IVYWALL. 



Page. 



The Wife o' " Kirkwood Hame" 


162 


Sacred Love ..... 


. 163 


The Indian Mound . . . . . 


164 


A Secret . . . . , 


. 166 


Time ...... 


170 


Love's Lament ..... 


. 171 


EVELENE . . . . .. . . 


172 


Pencil Marks in a Book .... 


. 173 


The Artist ...... 


175 


The Willow ..... 


. 176 


The Wind-Harp ...... 


178 


The Lovers ...... 


. 179 


The Court Crier . . . . . 


180 


Flowers ...... 


. 181 


Gone . . . -. 


183 


The Song of the Stars .... 


. 184 


Woman's Faith ..... 


185 


Anthem — John Anthony Qditman . 


. 187 


The Press ..... 


188 


"Pretty Polly" ..... 


. 189 


A Dry-Goods Store .... 


191 


Pilgrims ...... 


. 193 


Hosanna! ..... 


194 


Love's Adventure ..... 


. 196 


Mary Ellen ..... 


198 


Two Fables from the Polish 


. 199 


Man and Woman .... 


200 


Hymen . . . . . 


. 201 


Oliver Cromwell .... 


205 



SONNETS TO FRIENDS 



I. Rev. Dr. John C. Smith 
II. Rev. Dr. G. W. Samson . 

III. William Henry Donoho 

IV. James E. Murdoch 

V. J. Henry Dmochowski (Saunders) 



217 
218 
219 
220 
221 



CONTENTS. 



347 



VI. John Mitchel 

VII. Albert Pike . 

VIII. John Savage 

IX. E. Kingman . 

X. W. W. Seaton 

XI. Clark Mills . 

XII. Maye 



Page. 
222 
223 
224 
225 
226 
227 
228 



THE GOLDSMITH OF PADUA 



Act I 
Act II 
Act III 



235 

247 
262 



THE LATHAM PRIZE POEMS 



How THE Prize was OrFERED . 

F. G. H. 

The Banker and the Bard 
W. C. B. . 

The Doom of the Singers 
N. P. W. 

Advance of America 
Kev. C. P. C. 

Voice of a Vision 

a. p. M. . 

The Disunionist . 
Mrs. S. J. H. 

The Prize 
0. W. H. 

Our Yankee Land 

G. H. 

Liberty's Jubilee 
C. S. 

America's Battle Song 
S. A. E. 

The City of Congress 



281 

285 

286 

290 

290 

293 

293 

295 

295 

299 

299 

301 

301 

302 

303 

305 

305 

307 

307 

308 

309 



54» IVYWALL. 






Page. 


c. s. 


. 311 


Our Land . , . . 


311 


J. H. li. ..... 


. 313 


How AND What . , . . 


313 


Professor H. W. L. . . . 


. 316 


The Scene and the Song 


316 


W. W 


. 319 


The Flag of the Free, 


320 


J. Xj. T. . . . . 


. 321 


Trio . . . . . 


321 


John Smith ..... 


. 323 


Sons of Freedom 


323 


Song and Self. J. S. K. . 


. 325 


Spirit Rapping Poems . 


328 


E. A. P 


. 330 


Gold Gift 


330 


R. M. 


. 331 


Vernon's Mount . . . . 


332 


J. B. 


. 334 


Invitation to Song 


334 


R. T. P. . 


. 336 


Latham and Liberty 


836 


Dr. R. E. . 


. 337 


Gloria Latham^e 


338 


Judge H. . 


. 340 


Pierce and Latham 


340 


How the Prize became a Blank . 


. 342 



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